


The Stone Guardian

by Duarte89



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Mentions of Harry Potter, kinda of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 108,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duarte89/pseuds/Duarte89
Summary: Could I say no to Tulkas? Could I go on to my afterlife knowing that I had refused to help? I know that back on Earth, we would have welcomed allies to help us win the war. Could the solider in me, the human in me, turn my back on someone who needed help?
I lower my ice cold hands and turn to Tulkas, mind set and jaw firm, “Tell me everything you know about orcs and how to kill them.”





	1. In which Death doesn’t really stick

**Author's Note:**

> This is primarily an OC fic. Mostly canon compliant BUT as the tags say, it is a Fix-It fic. Don't own any of this, just my Oc's. Not really Beta'd except for me and my sister, so if you find any mistakes my bad. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment if you wanna share your thoughts, but any shade thrown at me will be duly ignored. This is written purely for fun, so any and all hate won't be taken in consideration. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I say no to Tulkas? Could I go on to my afterlife knowing that I had refused to help? I know that back on Earth, we would have welcomed allies to help us win the war. Could the solider in me, the human in me, turn my back on someone who needed help?
> 
> I lower my ice cold hands and turn to Tulkas, mind set and jaw firm, “Tell me everything you know about orcs and how to kill them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is primarily an OC fic. Mostly canon compliant BUT as the tags say, it is a Fix-It fic. Don't own any of this, just my Oc's. Not really Beta'd except for me and my sister, so if you find any mistakes my bad. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment if you wanna share your thoughts, but any shade thrown at me will be duly ignored. This is written purely for fun, so any and all hate won't be taken in consideration. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy.

**In which Death doesn’t really stick**

 

Lying on the ground bleeding out, I can’t help but give out a bitter wet laugh. All my training, all my anger and this is how I end up. Shot through like a goddamn rookie. I stare at the sky, the bursts of flame and smoke doing its best to cloud the fierce blue. I hear the fight raging on without me, and I feel so useless and scared. Scared because, who the fuck is going to watch everyone’s back when I’m here on the ground dying? I’m laughing, a hysterical sounding thing that abruptly changes into cries.

I don’t want to die.

There’s so much that I want to do, too many enemies still breathing that I need to put down.

I can feel tears running down my face, my body feeling almost disconnected from my mind, and curse the world. I latch onto the only thing that has been a constant of content in my life, the only items I was allowed to keep with me after my world changed forever. The Harry Potter saga, the entire collection is in my assigned barracks. My parents bought me the books, it’s the only thing I have of them now. The books are scuffed, dog eared and looking like they went through hell and back, but they are my most prized possessions. Those books saved my sanity, or at least some of it, by reminding me of a time where all this chaos was unthinkable; of a time when things were much simpler and full of happiness. And so in the throes of my death, blood flowing out like a river, what was flashing through my mind was a line that Professor Dumbledore says, _“‘To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.’”_

I cling to these words, trying to squeeze out comfort as I race to the finish line of life.

Dying hurts.

It hurts in a way that I’ve never felt before. It’s the scariest thing that I have ever experienced, and that’s saying something. I can feel the steady hot stream of blood flowing out of me, leaking away from my heart as it slows down its beat. My lungs feel as if they’re freezing, making it harder to breathe. A cold settles deep within my bones, wiping away any memory that I have of ever being warm. It gets harder to keep my eyes open, to keep my senses sharp. I can’t fool myself in thinking that I’ll actually survive this.

There will be no last second miracle for me.

That doesn’t exist in the real world, or at least in mine. My world had since fallen into a state of fear, combat and survival. I stare at the sky and think back on how I came to be here, anything to distract me from how my body is slowly dying. It wasn’t always like this, my world, but shit happens. I close my eyes and remember.

I was fifteen when the aliens invaded.

At first the world was in awe, the question of is there life out there among the stars answered. The next question was are they friendly? We got that answer loud and clear when a good chunk of Africa was bombed. The news went wild with conspiracy theories, evacuation routes, and martial law enforcement. Chaos ruled over the world, as country after country mounted counter attacks that were ineffective. The news warning the public about the military’s pending use of nuclear warfare. Earth would be a wasteland.

Of course that was when the situation got even worse, or in some strange way better since nukes weren’t used.

Weeks after the bombing of Africa, as millions of refugees flooded the borders of other countries, and the military was about to launch the nukes, a blinding flash bomb went off seemingly all over the world. It didn’t matter where you were no one was safe from the waves. That bomb did what a nuke couldn’t; it killed countless millions instantly without destroying the Earth’s environment. It was clear that these invaders were superior in warfare and wanted our planet undamaged.

Scientists didn’t know what the hell happened, which fed into the fear to the rest of us who survived the bomb. The survivor count dropped with suicides, people losing hope that the human race would survive this. We were all rounded up and delivered to the CDC like cattle for testing. After they collected samples from everyone a statement of what happened came out.

The flash bomb acted like a fatal mutation kick to the human DNA, sort of like radiation.

The aliens wanted to kill us without even stepping foot on our surface, and they would have succeeded if it weren’t for some of us having immunity to their mutation machine. It was biological warfare like we’ve never seen before. The mutation kick had unexpected…side effects. Those of us who survived the bomb closed ranks and it soon became apparent that some of us were different than others. While the war waged on, bodies from both living and dead were examined. The bomb mutated the human DNA, not all of the survivors experienced this mutation, but I did.

My mutation gave me the chance to fight back, to kill every single alien that I came across with extreme prejudice. There were suddenly countless of us with mutated DNA, with the ability to fight back and the human race joined together. The armies of all the nations united under one banner, thus the Terra World Army was created. This wasn’t what the aliens were counting on, and the government took advantage of that. The military tracked us down, the mutants. We were taken to facilities all over the world and trained to fight.

Each person was different. One girl could turn to metal, while another had the ability to grow flowers. The army weeded out those who had powers suited for the military and put us in a different group. Those who weren’t, like flower girl, were sent out to use their powers to grow food or help the sick. No mutant was ignored, no power not used to help the fight.

Me, I had the power of manipulating the earth. I could move the ground, lift it, twist it and sink it; basically I was a reckoning in the making. I trained with a soul encompassing determination to bend the earth to my will…and that will was made of my deep seated need to eradicate those whom have destroyed my life. There was no lack of motivation in the barracks; we all wanted these aliens to die painfully for the genocide of Earth. Soon we were ready and set loose. The team that I was placed in was mostly composed of mutants that had abilities best suited for long range attacks.

We had Brett Lanus, codename Cannon, who could shoot balls of fire through his hands. Lanus had a flair for the dramatic, and was a hoarder no matter how much he denied it. The man almost burned down base camp because we almost threw away his baseball card collection. He was an odd case. Lanus had no family to speak of by the time of the invasion, had no real friends and spent his time before working from home. Lanus, though he didn’t really share such painful experiences like the rest of us, didn’t disappoint when it was time to perform his duty.

Ivanna Yashin, codename Wrecking Ball, gifted with super human strength that let her knock incoming ships off course and throw torpedoes barehanded. Ivanna was a small willowy Russian woman who was stranded in the States by the attacks. She ultimately stayed in the States after being informed that her family perished by the effects of the bomb.

Brandon Giles, codename Tornado, could manipulate wind currents. Giles was one of the lucky ones. He and his family all turned out to be immune to the bomb. His DNA had been analyzed relentlessly, sperm collected and stored to ensure his bloodline endured along with the rest of his family.

Marcus Jones, codename Magician, telekinetic, liked dirty jokes and soul food. He was also Captain of our team that was nicknamed the Eastern Wall because we were very good at stopping anything from entering our assigned coast line.

Last, but not least, there’s me; Constance Williamson, codename Stone Guardian, Lieutenant to Team Thirteen in the Special Mutant Forces of the Terra World Army. Jones, Giles and I were the only teenagers in the team. Yashin and Lanus were already in their twenties when the bomb went off. We spent little time in training, the army putting us through a torturous training regime in order to throw us at the enemy as soon as possible. That was fine by me; the faster that I could go out there and make them bleed the better.

Every day the skies would be filled with the nerve setting alarms warning the public about air strikes. With each passing year, killing aliens became routine…war became routine. After five years, we broke Earth’s record for longest length of warfare in modern history. We all understood that this wasn’t going to end so easily or quickly. For every enemy base we destroyed, we suffered losses as well. We had to improvise, resort to guerilla tactics and night raids. It wasn’t glamorous, warfare. I’ve watched comrades die, seen my planet being claimed by those fucking freaks. Still I trekked on, so long as I still had breath in my lungs I was going to keep fighting. The war had been dragged out for thirteen long blood soaked years, but I knew it was coming to an end.

The Battle of the Atlantic had been going on for weeks. It was a mad scramble for who was going to win the Earth, us or them. Neither side was backing down, the skies darkened with ships and explosions. The ground forces that bordered the Atlantic Ocean were busy fighting off the invaders, holding the front line with a determination of steel. Battles were being fought everywhere, in the skies, the ground and on the ocean. Neither side having the upper hand until one of the air strike teams, on our side, was able to destroy a large portion of the enemy space ships.

The tide was changing, fueling the army’s force of will and ferocity. We were pushing them back, we were winning. The generals of the T.W.A rallied the forces, spurned on with the infectious joy of hope. Those stationed on the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean, where the mother ship was docked, were ordered to ready all their firepower.

I was launching boulders at incoming ships, relishing in watching them explode, stopping them from using their lasers at the ground forces. I was holding down my assigned section, killing enemies when I heard too late how one managed to sneak past my barriers.

The aliens were humanoid in shape, their skin a murky grey with bumps scattered across their moist skin. They looked like toads, disgusting creatures…as if I needed another reason to hate them. Their scent was hard to describe but not hard to recognize. They smelled like a constant mixture of wet dog and gas. They spoke in clicks and chirps, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t communicate with us. The freaks had translators that had our cryptology department working double time to create a code that they couldn’t crack. The toads, as we had gotten into calling them, had advance technology for sure, but what did that matter against a mutant that could make matter its bitch?

So while I was busy killing off some toads in the air, one of them was sneaking up behind me. I didn’t even know that it had gotten so close to me until it chirped. I could usually sense people walking near me, the vibrations on the ground gave me a ‘third eye’ sort of speak, but the toads were light mother fuckers making them hard to detect.

By the time I turned the toad was already charging his gun to blast me. I hastily pulled up a stone wall to block and pulled up a rock spear to gut the freak, but the alien dodged and aimed its gun at me again. We spent a few heart pounding minutes, battling against each other until I finally managed to slow the fast little freak down. I didn’t waste a second as I crumbled the earth beneath its feet, watching its body struggle as I worked the earth around him like a bind. I was smiling as it chirped wildly, walking towards it and crouching before it. “You know what’s coming don’t you?” I taunted as I tilted my head to look at it with a dark manic grin. “I want you to know that I am going to enjoy this, you won’t…but I will.” I reached out, my hands making contact with its clammy skin, the toad went wild chirping with a tone of anger; that’s good, let the toad feel desperation just like we did when they decided to fuck with the wrong planet. I slid my hands down its bald head and got a good grip of the base of its skull. “Hey, come on…eyes on me. I want to see the light fade from your eyes.” I said gently as I forced the creature to look at me. The alien spat at me, chirping no doubt insults in its language, and I grinned as the liquid hit my chin and chest. I dug my fingers into its skin, tensing my arms, and stared into its dark eyes. “Fuck you too pal.” I sang before breaking its neck.

I stayed there, crouched in front of the toad, savoring the death of my enemy that I didn’t hear the charging of a plasma gun behind me. I felt an intense burn at my side before rolling to the side and pulling a rock spear to kill a toad that I had thought was dead already. Apparently the sneaky little shit was preserving its energy for one last hurrah.

Fucking little idiot, I let myself get in too deep in my kill and left myself open like a fucking dumbass. I tried getting up, but my body was failing me. I looked down and saw a fist sized hole on my side, already it was staining the earth a bold red. I pressed a hand against it, knowing it was futile already. By the time help arrived, if it arrived, it would be too late, a wound that size was instant death in the battle field.

And so there was I was on the ground bleeding, as the sound of battle waged on without me.

Life goes on, doesn’t matter that a solider goes down. The fight won’t stop because of me and I wouldn’t want it to. If my death meant a step to victory then I would gladly give my life to the cause, hell I already have.

So I lay there pondering the wise words of Professor Dumbledore, when a thunderous explosion shakes the very ground I’m prone on. The ear-splitting sound makes me flinch in pain and echoes throughout North Carolina, and I’m sure the whole damn world. I open my eyes and see fireworks. Streaks of fiery metal are soaring through the sky, sometimes exploding twice as they cut through the air.

Someone had bombed the mother ship.

I wheeze hard as my eyes grew wide, someone had broken through their force fields and bombed the fuckers. I feel my body shake with laughter, pure happiness burning through my near bloodless veins. My dying heart gives a few rapid heartbeats before slowing down, leaving me weaker than before.

As if I needed a reminder to calm my shit because I was dying.

I feel tears gather in my eyes and smile. The war was won. I lived to see the end at least. I see the small air ships crash with the destruction of their main ship. It would be easy now for the T.W.A to round up the enemies’ ground forces without their link to the motherboard.

“Constance!”

I turn my head at the deep baritone voice of Marcus. He’s covered in slime and blood, his face gleaming with sweat; the Captain’s dark skin standing out beautifully against the flaming background. He stares at me for one second before running towards me, sliding down to his knees and looking down at me with a stiff expression that doesn’t quite hide just as fucked I am.

“Hey.” I groan out, a small burst of blood splashing against my lax fingers. I feel his large hand come down on my wound, applying pressure to an already lost cause, pain flaring through my body, “That hurts.”

“Yeah well deal with it. I can’t have you dying on me Lieutenant.” Marcus says with a cocky smirk. God I was going to miss the bastard. Out of everyone that I knew I was going to miss him the most, but then again I won’t be alive to miss anyone so that’s a blessing.

Marcus and I were picked up the same day in Chattanooga, Tennessee. We were both the only survivors of our family after the mutation bomb. He was from the wrong side of the tracks and I was just some middle class white girl, neither important to the world until we were. Marcus was a tall gangly black kid when I met him, hair all fro’d out and a small scattering of acne on his cheeks. He was hunched over next to me in the bus that was taking us to a base that day. He was quiet, tears running down his cheeks, and had only turned to look at me as I began to sob. I must have looked so pathetic. My hair was an unruly mass of curls, greasy as I had refused to leave my parents corpses until the militia came to my house, dental braces and eyes nearly half shut from crying. I remember what he had said to me, the bus driving through the eerily silent empty streets, as if it were yesterday.

He had poked my arm, waited until I turned to look at him with tear filled eyes and said, “You and me, we the only family we got left. We’re connected by our special blood. We ain’t alone; you got me, and I got you.”

I had stared at him, eyes puffy and red, and grabbed his out stretched hand with a near crushing grip. I didn’t let go until a solider nearly ripped me away so that I could be checked over once we got to the base. I had fought like a demon possessed until I was reunited with him, I didn’t calm down until my hand clasped firmly with his. Marcus is the only person that I ever let in after that day. Marcus was my family, in a way that the team could never be. I love him. Marcus is my brother and my heart is breaking as I watch him stare at my fatal wound with frantic eyes.

Marcus grew up to fill in his long limbs with muscle and his squeaky voice deepened. Puberty had done him good. The Magician was a good captain, once you learned to ignore all of the stupid shit that would come out his mouth. We had lost Giles in the Battle of the Gulf two years ago and Marcus had closed his fist around us to near suffocation. We didn’t say anything, we were a close knit group and Giles loss hit us hard. Marcus took it especially hard, Giles was our age and Marcus had taken in the wind manipulator as a little brother. Marcus and I have been together for thirteen years, never separated and our familial bond was soul deep. Marcus would feel guilty for not being able to save me, his little sister; it hurt me to know that he would be blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault. “Marcus…I’m already dead my brain just hasn’t caught up yet.”

“Don’t say that. They brought in the Phoenix from New York, she’ll heal you and we’ll go out and get smashed without having to worry about any missions ever again.” He says as he pushed down trying to stop my blood from leaking out.

“Marcus,” I say, wanting to tell him that the blood flow was slowing…there wasn’t much blood left in my body to bleed out.

“No! You’re not dying! The war is fucking over! We made a promise that once it was over that we would go back home with the team and rebuild. You can’t back out!” He screams at me, his head hanging low and hand tight against me.

I feel my throat tighten with emotion and I force myself to open my mouth and talk. “Marcus…I’ve been lying here for hours. I’ve lost too much blood already, doesn’t matter if the Phoenix is here.” I tell him gently, my limbs numb and my heartbeat too slow. I shakily bring my hand atop of his, on top of my gaping wound, and squeeze weakly.

“You can’t leave me.” He whispers painfully.

“‘ _The ones that love us never really leave us…’”_ I quote with a smile.

Marcus gives out a sharp laugh that sounds a bit hysterical as tears run down his face, “Are you seriously quoting Harry Potter right now?”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” I wheeze out with a smile. Suddenly I feel something pass over me and I know, I just know, that death is coming. I squeeze Marcus’s hand with newfound strength, “Marcus listen to me,” I cough out harshly, my lungs fighting for breath, “I want to thank you for always being there for me…for being my family.”

“No, this isn’t happening. You are not giving me your death speech.” Marcus whispers to me as he draws up my prone body into his embrace. He presses his forehead against mine, his breath mixing with mine.

My chin trembles with fierce emotion, barely holding back a sob. I use all the strength I have to press against his forehead. He’s so warm that it almost feels like my death cold skin is soaking it up. “Listen you idiot, I don’t have much time.” I pant out, feeling a stillness come over me. “I love you, with all my heart. I need you to not blame yourself brother. I fought like a fucking warrior okay, honor me like one.” I’m almost crushing his hand trying to imprint this moment into his memory. “I love the team, I know I don’t show it, but tell them for me please. I want you to ask Ivanna out on a real date, don’t pussy out on me okay. She likes you, and now with the war over you two can start a family. Brett could be that weird uncle that everyone gossips about wondering if he’s gay or just really effing weird.”

Marcus laughs as he cries, “I promise I’ll ask her out.”

“Name your first born Severus,”

“What—no!”

“Come on, it’s my dying wish here.”

“Make another one then you dumbass.”

“Fine,” I chuckle weakly, “promise me to live your life and make Ivanna happy, but more importantly to be happy yourself. Take my Harry Potter books. I’ve already filled out the paperwork to leave all my stuff to you. Read them to the kids, tell them about me. Tell them that I love them, that I’ve loved them since before they were born. Tell Brett that it doesn’t matter if people think he’s weird because he likes to collect coins and baseball cards, but to at least throw away his old Sudoku books; and tell General Hammer that a couple of breath mints goes a long way.” Marcus lets out a laugh but I can see him barely keeping it together. I let out a sob, “I’m so glad that you found me before I died.”

“Shhh…I’m not going anywhere Constance.” Marcus leans and kisses my forehead. “I got you.”

I let out a cry as I hear his words from years ago, “And you got me.” I say with thick emotion. “I don’t want to be buried in the army uniform. I want to be buried with _our_ uniform.”

“I promise Constance.” Marcus kisses me again, “I love you Cons.”

I cry as my grip on his hand loosens, “I love you Marcus.” I feel him hug me, just as I take my last breath. I’m blessed to be able to take it in the arms of a man who grew to be my brother.

I die hearing his cry of pain on my passing and the heat of Earth’s victory.

* * *

 

 

There is no grim reaper waiting to collect your soul, well at least there isn’t for me.

I died, I know I did; I felt my breath still and my heart stop. Blackness swallowed me up and as if I were sleeping I wake up to white shores and green meadows. I frown as I push myself up on my elbows and look out at the pure looking nature. I turn to look around, trying to see if I can catch a glimpse of the army…of anyone really.

I’m alone, except for the steady melodic rhythm of calm waters rushing against the white shores only pulling back to the sea almost lazily. I blink and look around more carefully but no, I am alone. I push myself up, feeling no pain, and wonder what the hell had happened. I look at myself and see that I’m dressed in my team uniform; black combat boots, black pants and a black short sleeve shirt complete with the small logo Marcus and I designed. Curious. I have no blood staining me and no wound anywhere on me. I frown, walking up to a stream that I had spied a few yards away from the sea. I look at my reflection, taking stock of the situation that’s leaving me uneasy.

The first thing I notice is that my skin’s a shallow color, as if I had never stepped out in the sun in all my life. My skin, which was light to begin with, is so pale it has tones of grey in it. My lips are a soft blue, bloodless, and my eyes have a white film over them. My hair, in life, had been wild and big but now it hangs lank and lifeless, its auburn shine dulled.

Whatever happened I sure enough look dead. I stand there staring in silent shock before a voice behind causes me to jump violently.

“I see that you’ve arrived safely then.”

I know that there wasn’t anyone out here with me. I checked. I never fail at clearing an area. How in the seven fucking hells did this man sneak up on me? The voice behind me is a deep, smooth tone that has a twinge of impatience to it, as if I was intentionally late in getting here, wherever the fuck here was. I even out my breathing, loosen up my limbs ready for any attack. I narrow my eyes and test to see if I had brought my mutation ability with me in death. I smother a smile as I feel the earth answer my call. A booming laugh has me flinching, had the man figured me out?

“Be at peace young one.”

I didn’t survive for thirteen years in a war by simply trusting someone like that. For all I know my corpse might have been taken by the enemy and somehow resurrected in an attempt to use me against the T.W.A. All I know is that I’m in an unknown location, being approached by an unknown party and look like a Frankenstein experiment. I don’t hear him walk, his steps silent. Instead I sense him coming closer to me through the earth. I ready a spear, still hidden underneath the earth, waiting for the right moment to attack. Soon gleaming gold armor and long bright golden hair is filling my vision. I hold myself stoic, taking in everything if I need to use this information later, nerves taunt waiting for my moment. The man’s tall, broad shouldered and beautiful. Not in the way that humans are usually beautiful, no this man’s otherworldly. Light seemed to pour out of him, his blue eyes glinting with power. Even his beard seemed to be shining.

An alien then, but he’s different than the toads that sought to conquer Earth. I grew even more uneasy. If I was taken, brought back…who was I taken to? Did Earth suffer through thirteen years of warfare only to be hit again by a different race? I stare expressionless at Golden Boy, whose staring back at me. He looks to be measuring me, as if wondering if I was enough…enough for what I don’t know, but it was starting to creep me out. Dude didn’t even blink.

“My, but you are a suspicious one.”

“Can you blame me?” I ask, breaking my silence. I know that if I want information I have to engage the enemy. I sharpen my hidden spear even as I speak to him. “I died only to wake up in some field with a man that looks like Thor.”

“I assure you I am not this Thor you speak of, I am Tulkas the Strong.” He says with an elegant bow.

I stare at him waiting to see if he would continue, but that was all Golden Boy was giving me. He said his name as if it was supposed to mean something, something very important. “Tulkas the Strong…” I repeated as I flipped through my memories to see if there was any mutant by that name, or just anything. Nothing came to mind. This man looked human enough, but I knew that he wasn’t…some primal instinct was blaring with caution at the sight of him. He couldn’t be human, even back when I was alive with the mutants you could tell that they were human. I control my instinct to kill, for now. I need to make sure that he wasn’t some ally, god knows how long I was ‘dead’ for before I was brought back.

Silence prevailed between us, my eyes never leaving his and I wonder if I should do something. Maybe I should introduce myself, but then knowledge is a powerful weapon. But then again it’s just the two of us, no telling if someone was coming or what was going to happen. I needed more information, and it looks like the only way to get that was to play along. Grounded with a purpose I look to this Tulkas the Strong with focus. He’s looking at me with barely raised brows. “I’m Constance Williamson, of the S.M.F. branch of the T.W.A.” If he was a friendly he would know what those acronyms mean.

“A pleasure my lady, now I suspect that you are wondering just what it is you are doing here yes?” The gleaming man said with a near blindly grin. He didn’t even pause at hearing my introduction, no informative reaction.

I nearly bite my tongue in half as I resist the urge to spit at him. This was why Marcus was always the one to speak I had no patience for it. I hold my mask of calm in place, “Yes, the thought had crossed my mind.” I was getting nervous. For all that Golden Boy talked all flowery and proper, being non-threatening, I know that he’s stalling. Stalling for what purpose is what’s getting me nervous. Now I’m not the smartest girl around, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I died, plain and simple. I was brought back, somehow, for a reason. That reason…I need to know why.

Tulkas sighs and looks to the side, his sapphire eyes scanning the distance. “I will be frank with you…you are among the dead at this moment.”

I frown before schooling my expression, mind going a mile a minute. What the hell? I wasn’t resurrected? I’m still dead? I feel a cold tingle creep down my spine. Was this guy trying to trick me? “Are you fucking with me?” I snarl, calm expression cracking with anger.

Tulkas blinks in surprise before a dark shadow passes over his face. “I can only imagine what you just said, but know this if you speak to me with such insolence again you will come to regret it Constance Williamson.” Tulkas snarls right back at me, his blue eyes blackening converting his once beautiful shining face into a dark creature of violence.

Fuck this.

My instincts are screaming at me to do something, flight or fight. Considering that I have never backed down from a fight, I’m not about to start now. In the span of a breath I create a sink hole beneath the man’s feet, pushing myself away a safe distance, and pull up a rock spear. I push it towards his head I don’t want to take any chances of him surviving. I hold my breath as my spears rush at him only to crash into the earth uselessly. I pull up a stone dome, providing cover and pull up an array of spears from the ground below. I can sense Tulkas through the vibrations of the earth. Closing my eyes I focus on seeing through the ground. I move my hands, sending my deathly sharp spears hurtling towards him but it’s like they’re running through molasses. They never even get close to touching him. I take a breath, pushing down my frustration, and crumble the earth as he moves. I don’t know how many spears I pull up, how much of the ground I crumble, but it ends with no direct hits. “Come the fuck on.” I hiss as I scowl. If I could I would be sweating, but since I’m apparently ‘dead’ my skin stays ice cold. “Just fucking die already asshole.” I turn my head to follow my spears as they chase after the fast moving being. It’s like he’s just dancing away from me, like I’m a damn joke not even a threat. I push my spears faster, and for one glorious second I feel impact before the wall to my right is punched through. I shout out in surprise and fear, because what the shit is this guy, before throwing myself to the side. I break the dome in order to escape. I’m getting up when I feel an impossibly strong hand clamp around my ankle and yank me backwards. I scream and pull stone blocks to push him off me. I’m panicking, my mind not even processing just acting blindly. I’ve never been in close combat like this before, never having an opponent that’s freakishly fast and stronger than me. I feel him release me and I waste no time in running away only to slam into what feels like stone. I bounce back and before I fall backwards Tulkas grabs my arm and straightens me upright.

I throw a punch, my strength higher than normal humans, and feel it stopped by a larger hand encasing it in a too warm hold. I struggle throwing out kicks before Tulkas kicks my right leg. I feel my leg fold and crash down on my knees. I stare up, anger drowning my fear, and bare my teeth with a growl.

Tulkas is smiling at me, a small cut on his arm from my spear, and continues speaking as if I didn’t just try to kill him. “As I was saying, you are dead. I have pulled you from the path that leads to the Halls of Mandos for a specific purpose.”

I pant, feeling disgustingly inferior and burning with rage. “What purpose?” I snarl out at him.

Tulkas smiles at me, somewhat fatherly, “Let us walk, for this tale is a long one.”

I laugh bitterly, “I’m not going anywhere with you freak.” I glare up at the gleaming being, “You got something to say, you better tell me right now where you have me contained because if I get an opening, I will kill you before killing myself. There is no way that I’m letting you, or anyone, use me.” I wasn’t going to be turned. I would die before I let that happen.

That disturbing dark shadow passes over Tulkas face, sending another wave of fear through me, before it clears and he’s left gleaming like a sun again. He has the audacity to chuckle at me, “How very curious.”

I’m not about to be taken in by his humor. _Constant Vigilance_ , Mad-Eye Moody was the only one besides Severus that knew what was up throughout the books.

“I suppose that this suspicion and aggression is to be expected. I am a fellow warrior and so I understand. You awaken after death in a strange land and appear before me, a stranger. I too, would react negatively but I assure you that I mean you no harm.” Tulkas says as he slowly lets me go and steps back.

I can’t stop glaring at him, slowly standing. I’ll give him one shot at telling me why he brought me back. One shot and if I don’t like it, well one of us was going to die.

Tulkas gives me a grin, before it slowly fades and he’s left with a somber expression. “The reason why I have brought you here is because there is a great evil stirring and it will rock the very foundations of my Father’s world.”

I don’t interrupt, curious and now confused about who or what this Tulkas is. His Father’s world?

“Now I seldom interfere in any of the struggles that occur in Arda, but my brother has managed to…convince me to take an interest.” The golden warrior says with a humorless laugh. “I have given my word to help and once given I cannot break it.”

I suppose that he does look like the type to uphold honor and all that. He sure talks like some knight from the Middle Ages.

“Have you ever heard of the War of the Dwarves and Orcs?”

“No.” I’m frowning now, death glare gone as my eyes narrow in confusion. I never read in any history book about there being a war between Dwarves and Orcs, not to mention that I don’t know what the hell an orc even is. My suspicions that I’m not even on Earth are slowly solidifying. The thing is, if I’m not on Earth…where the fuck am I?

Tulkas brows furrow for a quick moment before smoothing out. “The conflict between those two races has been waged for years. The orcs determined on exterminating the dwarves, and the dwarves of course fighting back. This war was mostly fought deep within the mountains; no other of the Free People could send aid to the line of Durin. Many evil was done, many lives lost and still the war wages on though not as heated as before.” Tulkas sighs, his eyes darkening, “There is still one that lives, one that will mark the beginning of the return of a dark age.”

I have no doubt now. I’m not on Earth. I wasn’t brought back to become a weapon against my planet. I was brought back by Tulkas who apparently is from a different galaxy. That is if all this isnt some fucked up hallucination and I’m still on Earth bleeding out and unconscious. I can’t decide which one is the more logical explanation. I mean aliens invaded the Earth, who was to say that there wasn’t another galaxy out there fighting their own war? I frown as another thought hits me. This guy said something about pulling me from the path, a path that leads to the Halls of Mandos. Is that alien speak for the afterlife? Is he saying that he took my soul, essence, whatever from the path to life after death and brought me here for his own purpose? If so, then what the fuck? Who the hell is this guy to make such a decision, or even have the ability to just nab random souls from the spirit world to wherever the hell this place is? Or is my mind just constructing an elaborate dream to cope with my impending death?

I take a deep breath hold it for three seconds before slowly exhaling. That explanation no longer makes sense. I know I died. It’s wishful thinking that I’m somehow still alive. So, kidnapper of souls for some maybe nefarious reasons it is then. Just keep calm and go with the flow Constance, see what you can find out.

“My brother wants me to be a Champion to his children, the dwarves. You see I am the Champion of the Valar.” Tulkas says in an assumption that I know what the fuck he’s talking about.

I’m really becoming lost to the reason why I was taken. If his brother asked him for help then why isn’t he? More importantly, why didn’t this soul stealer take someone who knew what the hell he was even talking about? It’s at this point that I notice that Tulkas has stopped talking and is staring at me with a confused expression.

Yeah, you and me both chief.

“Do you really not know of me?”

I turn my milky white gaze on him, “No, I don’t. Matter of fact, I don’t know what the fuck you’re even telling me. I get that your brother is asking help for his kids, but isn’t he supposed to do that being their father and all?” I ask in confusion. I feel so lost, I don’t know how to react in this insane situation. I give a sharp bark of laughter, “I’ve never even heard of orcs! And the dwarves that I know don’t go to war, don’t even like being called dwarves because it’s rude and they don’t go into mountains…well at least I don’t think so.” God knows what the mutation did to the little people population. I shake that thought away and crack my neck, releasing some of the tension that’s building up. “The point is that I think, no I know, that you got the wrong soul. You and I are from very different worlds.”

Tulkas stares at me with an expression that I like to call the ‘oh fuck’ look. His shining sapphire eyes widen comically, mouth gaping open and brows raised high. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I mean it isn’t hard to notice the different way we speak and how we’re dressed. But maybe my soul form’s different? My head hurts from thinking about this fucked up situation. Now that I know that I wasn’t taken to be used against Earth, that I wasn’t brought back to be a part of some evil plot I relax a bit. It’s kinda hard to be angry at someone who made a mistake while trying to help family. That doesn’t mean that I let my guard down though, constant vigilance after all.

“How is this possible? You are the one that they call the Stone Guardian are you not?” He asks with a bit of urgency. His eyes narrow at me, anger and suspicion brewing like a storm; his glowy thingy is making that heart stopping thing where it snuffs out and shrouds him in darkness.

I try to step away but Tulkas crosses the distance insanely fast and grabs my shoulders tightly. I glare at him, spears bursting through the ground and pointed directly at his face. “When I was alive that was my codename.”

“Codename?” Tulkas snarls, as he looks like a literal storm cloud.

I swallow nervously even as I glare at him. Normally I don’t get scared easily but let’s review the facts here; I’m dead and basically being held hostage in limbo in a fucking different universe. I think I’m allowed to freak the fuck out just a little bit. He must have gotten my codename when he stole my soul, but wouldn’t he have also gotten verification about where I was from? I mean isn’t that how soul reading works? I’m guessing of course but I would think if he got my codename he would have gotten the rest of my goddamn bio. He must have known that I wasn’t from his world, unless he was sloppy. If he was sloppy and only bothered with getting my name then he wouldn’t have known that I was an Earthling. I sneer at the being, all that power and no finesse. “My name is Constance Williamson of the Special Mutant Forces of the Terra World Army. I’m a solider with unique abilities that my government found useful in our war. I was given a codename, an aliases, when in combat in case I was taken by enemy forces. My codename was the Stone Guardian due to my abilities.” I see Tulkas stare at me with an increasingly worrying look. I knew it! He did do a shabby job in stealing my soul. At this point I’m condescending to him at his ignorance, I think I’m entitled considering. “Where I’m from there are no orcs or Valar. The dwarves that we have don’t go to war, they don’t live in mountains. You’ve made a mistake,” I say with a scoff, “when you collected my soul off the path. I’d appreciate it if you put me back.”

“A mistake…no….perhaps you were meant to be taken regardless of my…mishap.” Tulkas says after a beat of silence. Tulkas looks at me and cocks his head to the side, “Maybe there is a way for me to know exactly who you are.”

I narrow my eyes. This doesn’t sound good at all, it sounds like he’s going to make his fuck up work at whatever cost. I wasn’t meant to be taken! I glare as he comes closer, “I already told you all you need to know.” What did he mean that there was a way for him to know more? I look at him and fight to inch away. He has a look in his eyes that reminds me of the scientists when I first started shifting earth, like I was a specimen under a microscope.

“I’ve never tried this myself, but how hard can it be?” Tulkas says mostly to himself.

“Um yeah no, I don’t feel comfortable at all with you experimenting on me.” I say as I angle my body away from his.

“You’re already dead.” Tulkas quirks an eyebrow at me his eyes shining brightly as he leans closer to me.

“Gee thanks.” I can’t help but drawl as I dig in my feet in and push with all my might, I don’t even budge an inch.

“There will be no harm in attempting this.”

“Dude there’ll be plenty of harm! You might damage my soul!” I scream at him.

“Nonsense the soul is strong where the body isn’t. It is immortal and will withstand any damage that I may invoke.” Tulkas assures me, although I sure as fuck don’t feel assured at all.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean that I’m cool with it. Dude I said no! Stranger danger!” I shout as I kick at him.

“I’m not a stranger, I’ve introduced myself earlier.” Is his snarky reply.

I growl but Tulkas is way stronger than me so there is no way I’m going to be going anywhere. I push my spears at him just as he places his large hand over my forehead and begins to chant in this weird language. I freeze, a weird sensation flowing over me. My spears stop inches away from his face before disintegrating back to the earth. I stand there unseeing, my senses going blind to anything that wasn’t Tulkas voice. Suddenly I feel something push into my mind. Legilimency, that’s the closest thing that comes to mind to describe what Tulkas is doing to me. I’m brought back to awareness at the sharp jab into my mind and I attempt to block him off. I fail, unsurprisingly, as I feel him go deeper into my mind. I comforted myself with the fact that not even Harry Potter could do Occlumency. I have the weird sense that I’m screaming but it sounds so far away, like a TV with the volume on low. When the intrusion finally stops I take a steadying breath, thinking that it’s over. It isn’t. In a burst of light I see my life flash before my eyes. Memories of when I was a child speed across my eyes. The time when my family and I went to Disney World in Florida, reading Harry Potter for the first magical time, high school, my first kiss, the day of the flash bomb, meeting Marcus, training, my first kill at sixteen, being sent out to the front lines, losing Brandon, the Battle of the Atlantic, the toad I killed, slowly dying on the battlefield, seeing Marcus one last time and finally drawing my last breath before death took me.

By the time that Tulkas had his fill and removed his hand I realize that I’m crying. I didn’t think I could cry again, I thought all my tears had dried up long ago. I didn’t even remember how my parents looked until just now. Their faces had become blurred as the years went on. I feel grateful that I saw them again, even if it was just in my memories. I got to see Marcus again, got to live through our first meeting and our last, it’s bittersweet. I take a shaky breath and feel fresh tears roll down my face. This was either the kindest thing that the alien could have done to me or the cruelest.

“I won’t ever see my family again, or feel the warmth of the sun on my skin or the wind through my hair.” I turn to look up at him. “I’m dead so why don’t you just let me move on? Why am I here?”

Tulkas looks like he’s confused by my pain, as if he doesn’t quite understand my concept of death. That alone made my eyes dry and sends a terrifying chill through me. I watch with haunted eyes as he looks away for a moment, my body tense and focus locked onto him.

Tulkas turns back and faces me with a severe expression. “Aulë, my brother, is father to the seven clans of dwarves. He pleaded to me to be a Champion to his children.” Tulkas says with sadness that dims his luminous complexion. “I cannot help him in that aspect for I am the Champion of the Valar, and only the Valar. Aulë created his children and left them in Arda to live their own lives, we’re not supposed to mettle in it for it is their world now. How can I go down and help them in this cause when all other causes were ignored?”

I think I’m starting to understand. “You can’t. There’d be resentment, and the dwarves would be hunted down because they were chosen to be helped by you. It defeats the purpose.” I sigh and ask the million dollar question, “Did you steal my soul from the path in order to take your place?”

Tulkas smiles, smile brightening his appearance his glow heightening and his eyes nearly burning with how bright they got. I swear that for one second I feel alive. I feel warmth surge through my deadened veins and can feel my lifeless heart beat against my chest. “Yes. I searched through the seas of the dead, hoping to find a warrior worthy to help my brother’s children.”

“So when you saw my codename…” I trail off, closing my eyes against the truth.

“I believed you to be a guardian of the dwarves.” Tulkas confirmed. “The dwarves of Arda are people of stone, long lived but not immortal. They make their homes in mountains, mine the stone and craft beautiful works of art with gold and metal. They are as sturdy and unyielding as the mountains. Who better to be their Champion then the Stone Guardian?”

“I just died from a war,” I say with a clenched jaw and tightened fists, “a war that lasted thirteen years.” I pause to take a breath, my voice breaking with emotion, “Thirteen years, and now you come along and what? Take my soul so that you can use me for another one?” I ask with rage. “You want me to be what a guardian angel, a ghost?” I ask mockingly at the luminous being.

“Oh no, what good will you be if you’re still dead.” Tulkas says as if I was talking nonsense.

I stare at him with disbelieving eyes. “Are you actually saying what I think you’re saying? You want to resurrect me in your world to be a Champion to these dwarves?” I can’t help but make an incredulous face and scoff loudly.

“That is correct. I acknowledge that there was a slight…misunderstanding but nevertheless I find that you are still an excellent choice for a Champion.” Tulkas states proudly.

I wonder who’s crazier…him or me? Him for saying such impossible things, or me for actually believing this shit. Bring me back to life? I need to sit down. I slowly drop to the ground, and cover my face with my hands. This is so fucked up. Damn you J.K Rowling! I should have never have been thinking about Dumbledore’s words about death. I jinxed my own passing. I don’t want another adventure, I want to move on and be with my parents. Why the hell is this even happening?

“Why?” I find myself asking dully.

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Tulkas says the name as if it held great weight. “He is the direct descendent of the line of Durin, and King of the Dwarven kingdoms of Erebor and Khazad-dûm. War and sickness has caused Oakenshield to have his home taken from him. Khazad-dûm was lost centuries past by a Balrog.” Tulkas explains with a nasty twist of his lips. “Durin’s Bane, that’s what the dwarves call the Balrog that killed Durin VI before they fled the mountain and made way to Erebor.” Tulkas gives me a heavy look, “Balrogs are corrupted beings, ancient and powerful. Few were left alive after the War of Wrath, fleeing from battle like cowards.” The glowing growled out, eyes narrowing with hate but taking a deep breath and continuing his story. “Since then the heirs of Durin have lived in Erebor, flourishing with the rivers of gold and beautiful gems that the mountain gifted them. The years were kind to them until the line of Durin became polluted with gold sickness. It started when King Thror found the heart of the mountain, The Arkenstone. They took to calling it the King’s Jewel, praising it to be a symbol of their right to rule. It wasn’t long before the King began to fall into gold lust. He began to hoard gold, his mind weakening and his behavior becoming erratic. His sickness caused him to begin to push his allies away. One is an elf that has been on Arda since the First Age, King Thranduil; excellent warrior, proud and stubborn. The other was Lord of Dale, Girion, of the race of Men that lay at the base of the mountain. With his allies barely keeping the peace with Durin’s folk, the worst thing to happen happened. Smaug, a fire drake from the north, was young and weak when we of the Valar came to fight against Melkor. The fire worm managed to escape and grew to maturity. The fire drake had felt the hoarded gold of Erebor and came upon the mountain, destroying many lives and forcing the dwarves out of their home. Thorin Oakenshield, then a young prince, took up leadership of his homeless people since King Thror was lost within his own mind and Thrain, his father, was reeling from shock at the death of so many of their people. Oakenshield lead his people, after being turned away by King Thranduil in aid for food and shelter, and settled them into the Blue Mountains. King Thror, along with his son Thrain and grandson Thorin led the greatest, and last, battle in the War of Dwarves and Orcs to reclaim Khazad-dûm from the orcs. Thousands died, Thror was killed, Thrain was lost, and Thorin had gained the title of Oakenshield. The dwarves suffered a great loss and sealed the gates to Moria, for no dwarf wanted to put their life against the threat of Durin’s Bane after that battle. Thorin became King-in-Exile, struggling to provide for his remaining family and subjects. One orc obsessed with ending the line of Durin, thought to be dead isn’t. His name is Azog the Defiler of the Gundabad Orcs. That creature is determined to wipe out the line of Durin, the line of my brother. He started by beheading Thror in front of his son and grandson. This led to Thrain storming the gates only to never be seen again. Thorin suffered greatly, having great responsibility thrust upon him at so young an age, but the young King took up the mantle and went on. Thorin settled his people safely in the Blue Mountains, pushing on for their welfare and I will not stand by and watch the filth of Melkor destroy that.” Tulkas ended with a fierce look. He laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “That is why I need you to act in my stead, help the line of Durin and destroy the orcs plotting against them.”

I stay silent, eyes closed within the darkness of my palms. I can’t even begin to face this brand of crazy. The silence stretches on before I find the strength to speak. “I died at twenty-eight, the average lifespan of humans back on my world is ninety and that’s if you’re not a solider. Considering that I was, I’ve only got what ten- twenty years left, IF I were alive. You said that these dwarves are long lived, I wouldn’t make a difference if you brought me back only to die prematurely.” This is all hypothetical of course, there isnt any possible way that I’m actually considering this crap.

“But you can and will make a difference.” Tulkas says gently as he lowers himself to the ground next to me. “I see in you the opportunity to help them, help them reclaim their home and fight off the encroaching darkness that threatens Arda.” Tulkas pats my head, “You know the feeling of an enemy trying to take your home from you, the anguish in seeing friend and family fall…will you not help them?”

That sneaky little shit, appealing to me in that way. “Do I have a choice?” I ask my voice lifeless.

“You always have a choice.” Tulkas says with finality.

We stay there in silence for god knows how long. I think back on my life, of how I fought along with my team killing the aliens that wanted to end the human race and conquer the Earth. I remember how it felt when I woke up disorientated in my room after the bomb, stumbling down the stairs and seeing my parents prone on the ground. Their faces were so serene, they weren’t in pain…they were just dead. The aliens had taken my home, my family and my youth. I stopped being a child when I found their bodies. I didn’t have first dates, prom night, college, a lover or fights that seemed larger than life only to be seen as stupid when old. I went from child to solider in the span of a month.

Could I say no to Tulkas? Could I go on to my afterlife knowing that I had refused to help? I know that back on Earth, we would have welcomed allies to help us win the war. Could the solider in me, the human in me, turn my back on someone who needed help?

I lower my ice cold hands and turn to Tulkas, mind set and jaw firm, “Tell me everything you know about orcs and how to kill them.”

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask as I lay on the grass.

“Ask me that again and I will be very displeased.” Tulkas tells me as he works.

I look up at Tulkas’ hovering form and hold back another impatient sigh. After what feels like days in the meadow limbo Tulkas says that I’m ready to go to Arda. No wait, the people there called it Middle Earth. I’m ready to go to Middle Earth and carry out my duty. I’m going in with the mere minimum of information. Not the best status for a mission but also not the first time I was sent into battle blind. Tulkas has told me that he couldn’t perform his mind trick on himself so that I could get stats on Middle Earth, the information that he held would overwhelm me and kill me for good.

That’s fine, I can deal.

My uniform, which I had been buried with, is hidden underneath gold glowing armor. Tulkas wouldn’t change his mind about it. He said that it’s a sigil to allies and foes alike. I think it’s too loud, no way am I going to be able to fight in gleaming gold armor. It destroys any attempt of stealth that’s required in this mission. I tell him this but it’s apparently a matter of pride to Tulkas. I’m his first ever representative to Middle Earth, his first ‘creation’. His Father, or whatever this Eru guy is, had given Tulkas the go ahead in giving me life again. Tulkas had laughed long and hard, his complexion going ruddy with his good humor, as he appeared back in the meadow with the good news. I’m starting to think that this guy has major impulse issues. First he steals a soul that he isnt even sure belongs to his world, and then come to find out that he did this without his superiors knowledge? Marcus would have liked Tulkas, they both liked to shoot first and ask questions later. Even with higher command.

So to my amusement and bewilderment, I’m the first of a race, weird that.

Tulkas had brainstormed on how to call me, in the end he settled on calling me a Tulk. I didn’t have to say how unimpressed I was at this to him he saw it all over my face. It’s just the shortened version of his name, and I was going down there with his armor and symbol. Dude was doing some major bragging.

“I made some minor adjustments.” Tulkas says offhand to me.

“Adjustments?” I ask with slight panic. Whoa, I’m not about to go down there looking anything less than human. I’ve seen the pointy ears that Tulkas is sporting; nope I want no part in that.

“Nothing to despair over I assure you my child.” Tulkas says to me with a warm smile, chuckling merrily which causes his light to shimmer beautifully. “Just…an extended life span, a more sturdy composition among…other things...”

I suck my teeth in annoyance. I thought I had made it clear that I wanted no more changes. “I’m already sturdy. I’m stronger than the average human, I can take more damage.” I narrow my eyes further as I stare at him, “And what do you mean extended life span?”

“Just something that you had brought to my attention earlier, you don’t have the same life span of a dwarf. You’ll need more time, if it’s required, to complete the mission.” Tulkas says as he grins playfully, “You’re sturdy, but now I made you more like your abilities, stronger and harder to harm.”

I clench my jaw in shock, withholding the strong urge to scream. Minor adjustments? From what he’s saying he made me into a damn tank, which if I think about it counteracts the blaringly loud shine of this armor that he gave me. Okay, I can deal with that. The life span is logical, I suppose but still those weren’t minor adjustments. Living longer, what if the mission was completed quickly? “Living longer than normal?” I’d be stuck on Middle Earth until I died again.

Tulkas laughs at me, noticing that I wasn’t complaining about him making me stronger. “You said so yourself, you only have about ten years to live what good will you be to the line of Durin if you die prematurely? Dwarves can live up to three hundred years.”

“Three hundred years…wait…are you saying that I’m immortal?” I ask looking away from him and staring at the sky. Again, what in the hell am I going to do with all those years? “Am I going to be a bodyguard until my second death?”

Tulkas stops whatever he’s doing and lays his hand on my head. I look at him, my dead eyes locked onto his vibrant blue eyes, “No. It is true that I am giving you life again to protect the line of Durin, but I do not intend for you to be a servant for the line of Durin. You will be your own person Constance…I like you far too much to make you only as a guardian with no other will.”

I felt some ball of unease within me loosen. “Suppose you can’t do anything worse then you have already.” I say but shrugging, “Alright, I’m ready.”

Tulkas smiles at me and pulls out a dagger. He cuts his hand and wet his fingers with his blood. The ethereal man draws something on my face before smearing it around me on the ground. I feel the ground heat up, my body contract with pain. A jolt of searing heat encompasses my body. I had thought that he would just sort of zap me back to life but this feels as if my very cells are being electrocuted back to life. I scream, my blood boiling and joints cracking with the force of _something_ pushing into my body. My minds turning white with the pain, I have never felt pain like this, not even when I was dying.

Tulkas steps back and watches with hooded eyes, I can barely see him as his figure is blurring into one bright light. “I shall always hear you when you need of me my child.”

I can only shout with pain as he begins to fade from my sight.

I’m lost in a sea of pain until I feel it slowly fading away. I feel out of breath and my body heavy. I have a sense that I’m falling, wind rushing all around me. I force my eyes open and am blinded with blue skies. The wind’s whipping all around me and for a second I think that I’m flying. I turn my head with difficulty and notice that I’m not flying, I’m falling. “Holy shit!” I turn my body, feeling fragile in the air, and see a vast greenness below me. I’m falling towards a forest. “You couldn’t have sent me somewhere safer, like the fucking ground!” I shout to the winds. I hear laughter on the wind and can’t help but give a shout of laughter of my own. I’m going to find out just how sturdy Tulkas made me.

I turn again, having my back facing the ground and raise my arms to cover my head. I brace myself for impact but really there’s nothing in the world that can prepare you for slamming into tree branches. I feel the thick branches break my fall, and possibly my bones with it. I grunt and shout in pain as I fall, the trees slowing my descent. I hit the ground hard, though not as hard as I could have. I lay there feeling sorry for myself for a while, trying to get my lungs to take in air and for the pain to leave. When I can move without the threat of blacking out I slowly sit up and look around.

The forest’s huge; wild life undisturbed by modern civilization. I look around and wonder how the fuck am I even going to find the dwarves of Durin. This mission’s already starting out with a bleak start. I doubt people here are going to offer up any info, especially without money which I have none of. Then again I have other forms of persuasion; I flex my hands as I slowly push myself to my feet. I take stock of myself, rotating my body and stretching until I know that my bones are fine. I’m just going to have some wicked bruises, nothing important to worry about.

I stretch out my senses, acquainting myself with the earth of this planet, and feel quick vibrations run through the ground and turn to look at the direction its coming from. It feels like a man, walking very fast. Not even a minute here and I luck out and find human life. At least I hope it’s human. I ready rock spears just in case. I stalk the life form, keeping track of it through the earth.

As I walk I can’t help but look around the forest with suspicion. Sure, it looks like any other forest, but it _feels_ dark. I can feel tendrils of dark slithering its way in the air, a weird side effect from being brought back to life no doubt. Regardless, I want to get out of this forest…it feels like I’m in enemy territory. I keep my pace, even with the mounting unease. I don’t want to alert anyone, or anything, of my presence. I follow the footsteps and soon I come upon a wooden house built right into a giant tree. I pause and hide behind a tree, looking at the weird and ingenious home, and can barely hear the panic mutterings coming from inside.

I creep out of the forest, fast stepping across the small clearing and crouch beneath a window. I inch my way up and peek into the window. I watch as a heavily layered man scurries about the place, hands wringing in worry as he stops to stand by a table. I move my body slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of what was on the table that had this guy so anxious. I grit my teeth against the painful pulse of my muscles and finally catch sight of the table clearly. I frown as I blink in confusion, looking again but no I’m not seeing things. The guy’s hovering over a withering body of a hedgehog.

What the fuck?

I push my senses out and find no other life form that isn’t wildlife and come to a decision. A civilian, no matter how wacked he seems, is a source of information…information that I’m sorely lacking in. So I stand up, breathing through the pain and walk to the front door. I give a polite three knocks and wait. I feel the footsteps stop just as the mutterings stop.

“Who goes there?” A muffled voice asks.

“Constance Williamson.” I don’t feel bad about giving out such intimate information. This isn’t my planet nobody here even knows that my planet exists. It’s freeing in a way, and crushingly depressing in another.

“I do not know that name…from where do you hail Constance Williamson?”

“No where you would know, are you going to open this door or not?” I ask with a bored expression as I keep a look out around me.

At first there’s no response. I’m about to kick down the door before I hear a squeak and suddenly the door is being thrown open. I barely manage to step back to avoid getting smacked in the face. I finally get a good look at the man and take in his appearance. He’s older, my height, with long brown robes, a brown lumpy hat and a wooden staff. Observing his face I see what looks like white goo plastered on his right side and wide brown eyes glaring at me before widening in shock.

“You are…” He trails off with a wheeze.

“Constance Williamson.” I repeat boringly as I look over his shoulder and into the wooden home.

“You…you…” The old man looks freaked out at the sight of me.

I freeze for a second. Don’t tell me that Tulkas sent me looking not human. I swear if I’m glowing or have pointy ears I’m going to find a way to get to him and kick his ass. I look at my arm as quickly as possible and see that I’m not shinning like a light bulb, my skin looks very normal; cream colored and alive. I reach up and grab my ears, feeling the rounded rim of it and nod with approval, no pointy edges at all. I let my hands drop and look to the sputtering man in front of me. I look human, just like him although much cleaner and hopefully more sane. I wonder what was up with him. I don’t have the luxury to walk away; he’s the only living human that I can see for miles. I need information.

A painful squeak comes from his hands, the damn hedgehog from the table, and the man breaks from his stunned speech. “Oh dear,” he says sadly at the small creature before looking at me sharply, “get in.”

“What?” I barely manage to say before I’m being man handled inside. I’m too dumbfounded by the daring of this weird person to object. I’m shoved inside before the creepy little old man slams the door shut behind us. Well, objective achieved I suppose. I managed to infiltrate the building and get the civilian to tentatively trust me. Now I just need to get him to talk.

I look around the sunlight lit home before I see movement from the corner of my eye. I turn warily and to my utter shock see a fucking zoo come out the woodwork. Badgers, raccoons, squirrels, birds and hedgehogs come out to inspect me. “Nice animals you got here.” The old man isn’t even paying attention to me. I spot a chair and go to sit down, confident that I can take the old man if it comes to it. My ribs give a painful twinge and my back aches from the many branches that I broke on the way down. I take a moment, just to rest my body, before looking at what the old man is up to. He’s running around doing some weird things to the small hedgehog that’s lying back on the table. The small animal’s contorting with pain. Apparently what the old man’s trying to do isn’t working. I lean forward as the robed man stops, a look of utter frustration marring his features, before he whirls away from the table in a tantrum.

“I don't understand why it's not working! It's not as if it's witchcraft!” The old man shouts before a he stops abruptly in his fast pacing. A look of understanding lights up his eyes. He slowly turns to look at the small animal with a steady gaze filled with old knowledge. “Witchcraft...oh, but it IS. A dark and terrible magic...” He trails off dramatically.

I lean back on the chair, confused and not a little bit disturbed by the old man’s change of attitude. Witchcraft? Was he a wizard? I can’t help but stare at the old man, who may or may not be a wizard, and wonder what he’s going to do. I oddly enough don’t feel threatened. Matter of fact as soon as I stepped into the house the dark feeling of the forest left me. My instincts are telling me that this man means no harm to me. I relax, muscles crying out, and see him remove the clear crystal from his staff and hold the small animal in his arms. The old man lowers himself on the floor, leaning against the wall as he places the crystal at the animal’s snout and begins to chant. I feel the hair on my arms rise with the power of it. Last time I was around any chanting I was brought back to life. Was this old man going to do the same to the hedgehog, but the hedgehog isn’t dead so what is he doing?

The man’s eyes are unfocused, his voice deepening with a mystical mixture of voices. I don’t dare move; the chanting grows louder and deeper echoing throughout the house. Shadows begin to creep into the house and I feel a jolt of alarm as the same dark feeling from the forest begins to try to break into the house. I tear my gaze off the man and his hedgehog and catch sight of a large shadow by the front door. My senses stretch out and I blink at what I see. Spiders, giant spiders.

What the hell?

Suddenly the chanting stops, the shadows that are creeping into the house vanishing along with the spiders. The wizard looks at the hedgehog that if you hadn’t seen it, looks in perfect health. The crystal is black from god knows what the old man had pulled from the animal.

“More questions than there are answers.” He mumbles as he pets the hedgehog before turning to look at me. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi.” I say feeling unbalanced at what just happened. The old man stares at me before he jerks from his spot on the floor. I flinch back and hiss at the pain from my ribs.

“Oh my goodness you’re injured!” He exclaims loudly and dramatically in my opinion, as he jumps to his feet, fast for someone his age.

I give him an odd look, “Nothing serious. Why’d you freak out when you saw me?”

“Freak out?” The man asks slowly, repeating my words with a confused expression.

I keep a wary eye on him. “The way you reacted at seeing me, as if you were surprised but you recognized me…”I trail off as I remember my armor. Tulkas had said that it was a sigil, for friend or foe to recognize. I stand up sweeping the old man’s leg out from under him and grab his staff. I don’t waste a second in twirling the staff in hand and point it at his throat while I put my foot on his chest. I don’t look it, but I’m actually very heavy. At least double the average weight for someone my size. The old man wheezes and protests weakly, his animals crying out but I ignore it all. “You know what I am, who my creator is.” I state as I give the man a hard look. Yeah, he’s no threat to me but he’s magic.

The old man looks up at me with wide frightful eyes, “Yes.” Soon his expression hardens. “I’d much appreciate it if you removed your foot from my chest, it’s quite heavy.”

“No…I think I’m going to let you stay right there until I get all the information that I need.” I tell him as I cock my head to the side, “Who are you?”

The old man says nothing.

I press down, watching calmly as he gives out a soft grunt of discomfort. “Who are you?”

“Radagast the Brown.” He says at last, closing his eyes and taking slow breaths.

I let up the pressure and continue. “Are you a wizard?”

Radagast gives me a strange look before answering, “Why yes I am. I thought you would have known that.”

“I’ve never met a wizard before,” I answer, “are all wizards like you?”

“Never met a wizard…” Radagast trails off in wonder.

At this point I feel confident enough that he wouldn’t try anything freaky and take my foot off his chest. I move the staff out the way and grab his arm. I pull him up, smelling the forest on him, before directing him to the chair where I had just been sitting on. “Yeah…actually you’re the first person I’ve met since falling from the sky.”

Radagast sits down, his eyes widening with wonder until he jerks in place and twists his hands. “So you’ve just arrived here?”

“Yeah…this is Arda right? I mean Middle Earth.” I stand back, holding the wooden staff and leaning subtly on it.

Radagast stares at me like I’m an interesting bug. He begins to lean forward to the point where I wonder if his ass is even touching the chair. Radagast’s so close to me that I notice that the white goo on his face is actually bird shit.

Just what the fuck did I get myself into?

“Who,” Radagast asks in a high pitch before clearing his throat, “did you say your creator was?”

I stare at him in silence, raising a brow in question. He knows all this…is he trying to sike me out? I give the wizard another calculating look and shrug, “Tulkas the Strong.”

Radagast chokes and falls back on the chair. “Oh my…oh my oh my….never in all my years…oh…”

I eye him funny for a moment. He’s quite a character, so innocent and quirky.

“I am honored child of the Vala Tulkas.”

I stay quiet, watching him start to twitch under my stare. “And just how do you know Tulkas?”

Radagast gives a high pitched giggle, “How do I…my dear….I am a wizard. I was sent by the Valar to Middle Earth. The Valië Yavanna specifically sent me to Arda to watch over the land and animals. I was then known by a different name, but yes…I know of the Vala. He and Yavanna are of the Valar.”

So Aulë, Yavanna and Tulkas are Valar. I wonder if there are more. I tap my finger against the staff and come to a decision. This Radagast works for one of the Valar…he’s like me…a solider but not. Sure he looks like a homeless man but he’s a goldmine of information no doubt. “I’ll be honest with you, Tulkas sent me to Middle Earth on a mission. I need help to complete this mission. Will you help me?”

Radagast nods rapidly, “I’ll help as much as I can.”

I nod my thanks and pull up another chair, lowering myself stiffly and hesitate slightly before handing the wizard his staff. “I was sent here to protect the line of Durin.”

“Durin…but that’s Aulë’s creations. Why would Tulkas bother with them?” Radagast asks as he grips his staff tightly, body losing a bit of the tightness he had with it back in his possession.

“Aulë asked Tulkas for help, considering that Tulkas is a Champion.”

“Of the Valar...” Radagast countered.

“Yes…which is why I’m here.” I shoot back with a slight grin.

“Oh I see…” Radagast answers. “Why now?”

“Azog the Defiler is still alive. Apparently he’s been working in the shadows and has been planning something bad…something that will affect not only the dwarves but all of Middle Earth. Tulkas doesn’t know what but he says that this has the stink of the Enemy all over it.”

Radagast gasps and almost falls out of his chair. “Oh my…oh…there have been shadows…and then Dol Guldur…the spiders….oh pray that I am wrong…but then the Valar…oh my oh my.”

I snap my fingers in front of his face, “Hey speak in complete sentences. I don’t know what the hell you’re saying.”

Radagast shakes his head and gasps, “There has been an encroaching darkness within these woods. Offspring of the unholy Ungoliant, Destroyer of the Two Trees.” Radagast says in a dark tone that shadows his face. The very air in the house turns cold and oppressive.

“I take it that you don’t like this Ungoliant…thing.” I ask sarcastically.

“Like...no I do not like Ungoliant I abhor it; a monstrous spider that served the Great Enemy. My poor mistress Yavanna was so heart broken, but she along with Nienna managed to get a flower and a fruit and created the sun and moon.”

What even…no you know what I’m not even going to bother trying to make sense of any of this. Different planet and way out of my league, best to just go with it. The sun and moon made from a fruit and a flower? Sure why not. Giant spiders? Fine by me, I’ll deal. “So these spiders, they’re a sign of evil? What’s Dol Guldur?” I ask.

“Dol Guldur is an old fortress of Sauron the Deceiver. It has been abandoned for many years but I have a suspicion that a dark power resides there.”

“Sauron the Deceiver?”

Radagast gives me another strange look, “My dear don’t you know anything?”

I feel myself blush in embarrassment. I haven’t felt this stupid in a long time. “I told you that I needed information.” I growl at the wizard before clenching my jaw shut.

“Yes I remember that…request…but how in the world do you know nothing of Middle Earth considering who brought you here?”

“Tulkas couldn’t give me his knowledge; he said that it would overwhelm me and likely kill me. That’s why I’m here asking you for said information.”

“Well, I see…oh my…this is quite the dilemma. I don’t know how much I will be of use to you I rarely venture out of these woods.”

That I have no doubt of, this wizard has been alone for far too long out in the wild.

Radagast taps his staff against the floor a few beats before starting. “Sauron the Deceiver is a fallen Maia, a spirit being like me and others sent to Arda to help the Valar shape the world. He served under Aulë before the Great Enemy managed to seduce him into his dark service. Since then he is known as Sauron, the Dark Lord and the Lord of the Rings.” Radagast says with a pinched face. “The most important information concerning him is that he created the Rings of Power; nine for the race of Men, seven for the Dwarves, and three for the Elves; but little did they know that Sauron had forged another ring in secret. The One Ring was forged in the fires of Mount Doom, in the land of Mordor. Sauron had fooled the elves of Eregion, smiths of the rings, in order to conquer Middle Earth. Sauron with the One Ring would have control over the other nineteen rings and their bearers. The elves felt the darkness the moment Sauron wore the One Ring and took theirs off, hiding them away from him. The dwarves were able to resist the call and didn’t bend to Sauron’s ill will, but they didn’t escape unscathed. The seven rings caused them to have lust for gold, creating great hoards. The nine ring bearers of men did fall. They became immortal and faded away from humanity to become the Nazgûl, ring-wraiths and loyal servants to Sauron. There was a long stretch of darkness on Middle Earth before the Last Alliance of Elves and Men came together for one great battle. The battle ended with Sauron being destroyed and the One Ring being lost…forever.” Radagast looks towards the closest window and lifts his hat, a pair of small birds came swooping down and into a bird nest made of the wizards own hair.

I watch as he plops his hat right back on his literal bird nest of hair before speaking, “This darkness that you suspect…do you think it has anything to do with the orc that’s hunting down Oakenshield?”

“I do not know, but I have the sense that yes…that all is not well…of course I have been meaning to go…but such darkness…oh my oh my….” Radagast says before falling into a mumbling mess.

“You haven’t checked it out?” I ask sharply cutting through his ramblings.

“Well not yet.” Radagast answers with a sheepish look.

I sigh, tired, but stand with a grave look to the seated wizard. “We’re going to check this out, if what you say is true then my mission just got harder.” I rub my face roughly before taking deep breaths, ignoring the soreness from my fall. “Radagast, you said others…Maia…did they go dark side? Who do you go to if what you find confirms your suspicions? Who’s your back-up?” I ask with legit concern. This little old man for all his quirks and rambles is like the animals of the forest, innocent. I almost feel bad for hurting him before, almost.

Radagast gasps as if I had just kicked a puppy in front of him. “Sauron is the only one to have fallen so low.” He assures me with a narrowed look. “There are five of us left. Saruman the White, is the greatest of us,” Radagast says with the kind of look one gets when talking about a relative that’s a pain in the ass, “then there is Gandalf the Grey, a very good cousin of mine and in my opinion the kindest of all,” here the brown clothed wizard has a great smile when speaking of this Gandalf guy, “and then the two Blue wizards. They’re named Alatar and Pallando, but they have traveled deep into enemy territory long ago. I haven’t seen them in ages but have felt their success. They were charged with destroying the gathering forces of the east, it’s a good thing too or else things would be quite different.”

I hum, “But who would you go to with this information?”

“Gandalf.” The wizard doesn’t even hesitate in his reply.

“Okay…here’s what we’re going to do.” I say before explaining my plan.

“Oh my…oh my oh my…well it must be done…” Radagast says as he stands and walks to the front door.

I follow after him and watch as he whistles sharply once, the sound piercing throughout the clearing. At first nothing happens until I feel the pounding of powerful feet heading towards us. I turn to look in the direction of the vibrations and am confronted with the sight of giant rabbits. I swear if one starts talking I am done with this place. They come to a gracefully stop before us and watch in amazement as they stand perfectly still as the wizard begins to equip them with harnesses that connected to a sled.

“Wonderful aren’t they?” Radagast coos as he pets one.

“Yeah…wonderful.” I murmur as he hops onto his sled. Radagast turns and gives me an expectant look. I grimace slightly before stepping onto the sled. I prefer keeping my feet on the ground, but Radagast’s the expert here. Besides, when the hell else am I going to get the chance to ride a sled being pulled by rabbits? Radagast clicks his tongue and soon we were off into the forest.

I grip onto the wooden handle with all my strength as we jerk forward. These rabbits are fast, I’m barely hanging on but Radagast’s standing as if he’s cruising along at a slow pace. We cross the forest in a fast blur and before I know it we stop just short of a ruin. I make to step off the sled when Radagast stops me, an uncharacteristic hard look in his eyes.

“No, you stay here with the rabbits my dear.”

“I can handle myself.” I snarl offended.

“I have no doubt, but this place harbors something that would like very much to take a hold of a creation of Vala. Corrupt you and laugh in the face of the Valar. If I am right…it is best to leave the enemy in the shadows of your existence. We wouldn’t want them, if there is anything there, to act now when we are ignorant of their plans.” He stresses to me as he pushes me back onto the sled.

The sun is shining high in the sky and yet the fortress looks shrouded in darkness. The whole place is giving me the feeling of filth and just wrongness and I give a sigh of defeat. I nod and hold onto the handle again. I watch him walk away and find myself shouting after him. “Be careful Radagast…this place doesn’t feel abandoned.”

Radagast gives me a firm nod and walks into the ruins. I look and try to see the brown wizard but all I see is darkness and ruin. The rabbits are getting antsy, their ears twitching madly and feet thumping the ground anxiously. As if hearing a signal the lead rabbit begins thumping his foot with an authoritative air that has the other rabbits tensing in action. I bend my knees, ready for when the sled would jerk with their break neck speed, and soon see a certain brown robed figure running at full speed towards me; a swarm of darkness following him. “What the hell?” I breath out as I watch with wide unbelieving eyes. The rabbits are done with waiting and begin to run off without their master. “Hey, stop!” I shout but the rabbits are ignoring me in their haste to get away. I turn to look at the wizard and see that he’s somehow running at the same speed that the rabbits are. Wizards were full of surprises. Radagast ducks a large dark bird like creature and jumps onto the sled. I can’t help but give a gasp of surprise at the sheer speed and strength the old man has. I turn to look behind me and see fangs flying at my face, “Is that a bat!?” I screech as I lunge back, the handle clanging against my armor.

“Yes.” Radagast says with a grim look as he takes command over the rabbits. He pushes them faster and soon we’re weaving through the forest, losing our tail.

I look at him and see him stuffing a thick leather bundle into his robe.

“What is that?”

Radagast glances at it with a glare, “Trouble.”

I could feel the evil in it. Everything in my body is screaming to get the item and rid the world of it. My skin is itching with the violent reaction. I hold onto the handle and took a steadying breath, “What are you going to do?”

Radagast gives me a searching look before settling on an odd solemn expression on his features, “I need to find Gandalf.”

“Do you know where he is?” I question as the rabbits spring through brushes.

“Not precisely but,” he says as he raises his staff which begins to glow, “I have my ways of finding him.”

We ride for a month through the forest and then onto open fields, only stopping for food and water. I don’t bother asking Radagast about the dwarves anymore, since Radagast only had interest in his forest and animals. In fact there was not much talk of anything. The item that Radagast carries gives off a putrid sense of being, the sooner it was away from the kind wizard the better. Hopefully this Gandalf knows how to destroy it.

As we slide into the second month in our search for this Gandalf, Radagast laughs out aloud with happiness for the first time in weeks. I look at him, feeling relief at seeing the carefree look again on his weathered face. Radagast, with the wind blowing through his long beard, gives me an excited look.

“We’re close!” He shouts as he waves his staff wildly. The crystal held at the top is shining brightly, finally.

Radagast gives a series of clicks that has his rabbits jumping with new energy. They put on a burst of speed unlike any that I have experience so far. I hold onto the wooden handle as we crash through another dense forest, the greens and browns becoming blurs, before the rabbits jump over a fallen log and for a long heart stopping moment become airborne. I’m able to see a small clearing and a tall grey figure before I brace myself for impact. I hear shouts of anger and surprise before the sled and rabbits come to heart pounding stop, jolting and skidding to the side. I slide down to my knees and take a moment to catch my breath. Radagast leaves the sled, and I hear him greet this Gandalf with an excitement that I oddly enough missed since we left Dol Guldur.

“Gandalf, I have someone with me that very much wants to meet your dwarven companion.” Radagast says loudly enough for me to hear.

I stiffen and look to the sky, sending a silent thanks to Tulkas who more than likely is looking out for me. I feel a gentle warm breeze caress my cheek and smirk before focusing on the present. Slowly, to avoid drawing attention to my position, I inch my way off the sled and onto the ground to get a good look at what the situation is. I count fifteen, evenly spread apart in tactical areas.

So they have combat experience, not surprising considering their bloody history. My thoughts stall with the reply of this Gandalf person.  

“Oh…?” A kindly voice rings out, curiosity heavy in his tone.

“Who do you bring with you wizard?” A sophisticated yet cold voice cuts in.

Not a situation that looks like I would be welcomed in easily. I flex my hands and turn to look at Radagast who has come back to the sled.

“My dear this must be fate.” Radagast says as soon as he’s at my side. “Thorin Oakenshield! He is here!” Radagast whispers excitedly with his quirky smile.

I grab at Radagast’s robes, “Are you sure?” I whisper back with a fierce look.

“Positive my dear.”

My knees begin protesting my long held crouch but I ignore it as I think on what to do. I hear more angry shouting with the threats of violence thrown in and know that I have to make an appearance before the situation becomes hostile, even more so. Obviously this group isn’t big on friendly.

“Radagast…just who is your companion?” Gandalf asks as the sound of steel, nearly silent, echoes after his question.

What am I doing? Marcus would be laughing his ass off at me if he saw me so indecisive. I clench my jaw and stand, locking eyes with the grey robed wizard. I see him stare at me with an inquisitive look before noticing my glowing armor. Watery blue eyes widen with recognition just as Radagast’s had.

“A woman?” A male voice asks in curiosity, a smile evident in his voice.

“Look at all that hair.” Another says even as the sound of a bow being pulled taunt reaches my ears.

I flex my hands and readied my stone walls in case of an attack, not looking away from the grey wizard as I widen my stance.

“Put your weapons down you fools.” The grey wizard orders as he sweeps his pointed hat off. Long grey frizzled hair blends into a grey beard and grey robes. “I am Gandalf the Grey…and your name?”

I don’t relax my stance for a moment, “Constance Williamson.” The wizard stares at me unblinkingly and it’s starting to creep me out. It isn’t like Radagast, who was a sputtering mess of action; this Gandalf stills like a statue and places all his focus on me. I feel as if he’s trying to see into my soul. Honestly, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually possible. If it is, then I don’t much appreciate some guy all up in my business, already had one alien poking about my soul. I end up scowling at this grey wizard, curling my lip with disdain, “What are you staring at?”

The wizard blinks, his intense focus broken but he goes right back into staring. By now the upset murmurs quiet and somehow it turns into a stare-down between the grey wizard and me. I can feel my eyes begin to burn before the wizard finally blinks and makes a considering hum before bowing. “Forgive me for staring, but I have never seen anyone of your line in Middle Earth in all my time here. And I have been here quite some time.” Gandalf says as he goes back to staring at me.

I can feel Radagast growing anxious, the feeling of his burden at my back was making me shorter tempered than usual. “I’m the first. I was sent on a mission to find the heirs of Durin, specifically Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Yes…you said that…but not who is it that set you on this mission, nor why you need to meet with Oakenshield.” That cool voice cuts in again.

I look away from the wizard’s gaze, curious as to who’s talking with a voice that’s as sharp as a weapon. I look next to Gandalf and see the top of a head. Dark thick hair, streaked with grey, meet my line of sight before I realize that I have to look down. A regal face with icy blue eyes is glaring dead at me. This is a dwarf? I keep my expression free of any surprise as I observe this alien. Probably should stop that whole alien thing, considering that if they knew where I’m actually from I’d be the alien ‘invader’. This dwarf isn’t that much shorter than me, but what he lacks in size he more than makes up in sheer presence. He stands straight and unyielding, just as Tulkas had described the race of Dwarves. What had me curious is that Gandalf and Radagast seemed to know what I was the very second they clapped eyes on me, but this dwarf has no clue. “I suppose its limited knowledge then,” I say mostly to myself as I look to Gandalf, “is it only certain races that know?”

“Few are still living that remember that sigil.” Gandalf answers with a soft grin.

“Dodging the question,” The dwarf says sharply with ice in his voice, causing the unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn, “why should we tell you anything concerning the line of Durin?” He asks with a certain tone that has an undertone of violence.

I understand his off-putting attitude, I’d want some stranger answering my questions too. “I was brought to Middle Earth by my creator, Tulkas the Strong. He sent me here on behalf of his brother Aulë, to help the line of Durin. Tulkas tasked me with the mission to seek out Thorin Oakenshield.” I tell the dwarf, who hasn’t reacted to anything that I had said. This dwarf has one hell of a poker face I give him that. I won’t learn anything from him unless I ask a direct question. “Do you know him, Thorin Oakenshield?”

“She lies.”

I chance to look in the direction of that growl. A heavily tattooed dwarf is glaring at me with fire in his eyes. This is a warrior through and through. I can see iron laid into his clothing, and deadly looking knuckle busters adorning his hands that are clasping onto a wicked looking axe. I have no doubt that this dwarf won’t hesitate in taking me down if I so much as moved wrong. I appraise him with an approving look, but I learned long ago to never take your eyes off a potential threat.

I look back at the raven haired dwarf with the intense eyes. I notice finger the hilt of a sword by his waist. His gaze is filled with cold distrust. I keep my gaze on him, even if the tattooed dwarf is interesting this dwarf right here is the real threat.

“Don’t be ridiculous Dwalin.” Gandalf hisses in annoyance. “I would know Tulkas emblem anywhere and this is the first time since the first age that it has been in Middle Earth.”

“Why would the Valar send help now, why not before when Smaug attacked and stole our home?” The first dwarf with the intense eyes practically accuses me, as if I had any say in that event.  

“I don’t know. I just know that they sent me now.” I answer just as coldly, holding my head high and raising a brow.

The dwarf glares at me and grabs the hilt of his sword, tensing his stance that has me mirroring his actions automatically. Radagast’s sputtering as he stands by me and Gandalf’s looking on with the look of a put upon parent.

Gandalf huffs in anger and finally speaks, breaking the staring contest between the dwarf and me. “Enough Thorin!”

I blink in surprise. So the dwarf that I was about to fight is the same dwarf that’s my mission? Well, how embarrassing thank god for Gandalf. I relax my hands and give Thorin a considering look. I have to admit, he does have that royal air about him.

“This is a blessing, the Valar have sent you a gift.” Gandalf says as if scolding an unruly child. “Tulkas would not send his making to battle without good reason.” Gandalf continues to say to the now named dwarf. “Although why would he create life now after so long?” At this the grey robed wizard looks to me as if I held the answers.

I shrug, “Aulë asked him to help the line of Durin, to be their Champion. Tulkas couldn’t, he’s the Champion to the Valar. Not to mention the fact that he believes that problems of Middle Earth should stay in Middle Earth. But Aulë argued that the fate of the line of Durin, his people, is tied directly to the fate of Middle Earth and beyond. So Tulkas gave his word. Doesn’t mean that he was going to do it himself.”

Gandalf gives me a troubled look. “The fate of Middle Earth?”

I give the old man a nod before glancing at Radagast who’s wringing his hands in front of him. “I’m new around here, but so far what I’ve seen…what I’ve _felt_ …it doesn’t bode well for this world. Radagast show him.”

“Show me what?” Gandalf asks as he steps forward, Thorin right beside him.

Radagast looks pained as he pulls the leather bound piece from out of his robes. “The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows anymore, at least nothing good. The air is fouled decay, but worst are the webs.” Radagast says with a hunted look.

“Webs? What do you mean?” The grey wizard asks with a growing concern as he eyes the bundle.

“ _Spiders_ , Gandalf. Giant ones. Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant or I'm not a wizard. I followed their trail, they came from...Dol Guldur.” Radagast sputters out as he shifts nervously in place.

“Dol Guldur? But the old fortress is abandoned.” Gandalf says with narrowed eyes.

“No, Gandalf, 'tis not.” Radagast shoots back with a hurried look.

“He’s right.” I add. “We went to this fortress and I could feel the dark within it…that base might _look_ abandoned but it’s not.”

“A dark power dwells in there.” Radagast says right after me with fervor. “Such as I have never felt before. It is the shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead. I saw him, Gandalf, from out of the darkness. A Necromancer has come!”

“A necromancer? Are you sure?” The grey robed wizard asks, face wrinkled deeply in a somber look.

“That is not from the world of the living.” Radagast says ominously as he looks to the package he holds in his hands. As soon as Radagast says that an evil whispering comes through on the winds.

I turn my attention to the leather bundle, hands clenching before I see it taken by Gandalf and hidden faster than my eyes can follow. I shake my head to clear the aggression and see Gandalf eying me with curiosity. I look away and turn to my travel companion, grinning at how better he looks without the leather wrapped package. Radagast looks like he’s breathing fresh air for the first time. His brown eyes lighten and his back straightens without the heaviness of the dark item. I looked away to survey the area and catch sight of the rest of the group. They’re all dwarves, all of different ages before settling my sight on Thorin. Thorin opens his mouth to say something when a voice interrupts him.

“I saw something coming this way.” A male warns just as a howl rings out.

I look to Radagast, he would know what animal makes that sound. “What is it Radagast?”

“Was that a wolf?” the same male voice asks and I turn to find that it’s a small man that doesn’t look dwarven at all.

“No that’s not a wolf.” Another dwarf with a shabby hat answers.

The growling grows louder by the second before suddenly a giant creature’s leaping down at us. Thorin draws his sword and swings in one smooth movement cutting its throat. I shift my feet to a battle stance as soon as its body hits the ground. I feel the ground vibrate and see two more beasts making their way to us. Shouts ring out from all sides and I pull up a rock spear, impaling one creature’s heart at the same time an arrow whizzes by to hit the other creature through the throat.

Thorin pulls his sword free with a grunt. “A warg scout, which means an orc pack isn’t that far behind.”

“Orc pack?” the small man asks as if he can’t understand what Thorin had just said.

Tulkas was right, Thorin is being hunted down. My mission starts now, which means that I’ll have to be on high alert at all times.

Gandalf strides forward to the exiled-king, “Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?”

“No one.” Thorin answers looking up at the wizard.

“Who did you tell!” Gandalf shouts in anger.

“No one I swear!” Thorin answers stepping close to the wizard as he surveys the area. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

Gandalf searches the area, “You are being hunted.” The atmosphere turns tense with those four words. “Am I to assume correctly that Tulkas sent you here because of this?”

Everyone turns to look at me, “Yes. He knew that the line of Durin was being hunted down by way of Aulë. I even know who it is that’s giving the kill order on Oakenshield.”

“Who?” Thorin asks, turning that question into a command.

It doesn’t bother me; I’m used to getting commands. I fall back into the role, feeling comfortable. “Azog the Defiler.”

Thorin’s mask breaks and his face crumples into one of disbelief and horror. All around the dwarves give out sounds of disbelief and snarls. Anything that he might have wanted to say is cut off as the sounds of wargs come closer to our location. I stretch out my senses and find a herd running through the land south of us. I flex my hands and send a couple of them to their deaths as the rest scatter. I’m pulled from my concentration by Radagast arguing with Gandalf. Radagast is arguing that he can draw off the wargs.

“These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you!” Gandalf says in exasperation to the shorter wizard.

Radagast gives Gandalf a scowl, slamming his staff on the ground, “These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I'd like to see them try.” Radagast says with a smirk.

Gandalf leans back with an impressed grin and nods with a chuckle. “Rhosgobel rabbits…yes I think you will be just fine.”

I turn to the brown wizard and know that this would be the last I would see of him in a long time. I follow him to the sled, aware of eyes following my every movement, and come to stop as Radagast climbs onto the platform. I give him a wide smile, my back to the rest of the group, and see him return it before pulling him into a hug. “Take care Radagast.” I’m going to miss the crazy bastard and his ramblings.

“You as well my dear.” Radagast says as he squeezes me tighter before stepping away.

I step back, giving the rabbits each a gentle rub on their head before giving them space to move. The brown wizard clicks the command to his rabbits to start running. The lead rabbit, I named Bugs, thumps hard on the ground before leading them out of the clearing and disappearing into the forest.

Gandalf doesn’t waste any time running out, the rest of us following him out in the open field. We run and I feel the familiar drum of battle in my veins. We rush out of the cover of trees and hide behind a large boulder. I search the area with my third eye. There’s a lone rider close by. I step out into the open, drawing the creatures’ attention to me before I act. I open the earth beneath its feet and flex my hands, sending countless spikes into the driver and creatures bodies. They die quickly but not quietly. The orc managed to cry out and its screech echoes out into the plains. I turn to the direction where the rest of the orc pack is. “We gotta move, that cry would have signaled our location.” The orcs were still following Radagast and his rabbits, and I dared to hope that my good luck held but no. I feel them stop when the cry reaches them, seeing as they leave Radagast to come rushing our way.

Gandalf urges the rest of the group to move and we were off running. The howls of the wargs are coming closer and I have my hands out twisting the ground beneath their feet, creating pits to drop them into before killing them. I manage to kill a few but these wargs are fast and the riders have them leaping away from the death pits. “Where the hell are we going wizard?” I shout as I make a sinkhole so Dwalin can behead a warg and its rider that had gained on us. I don’t hear a reply and look around, all I see is the small man and his shining blue sword.

“I don’t see him.” He tells me as panic washes over him.

I scoff and look with the earth and see the wizard a couple of yards away from us at the opening of a rock.

I’m about to tell the group before Dwalin shouts at us as he pulls his axe out of the corpses, “He has abandoned us!”

I don’t have time to answer since I see a warg orc duo charging at Thorin’s blind side. I run to the left and a dark haired dwarf comes rushing to my side. This dwarf’s different than the others. Instead of a beard he has stubble, and is my height when the rest are inches shorter than me. I notice that he has a bow and find the mysterious archer from the clearing. We slide to a stop and begin our assault. He shoot arrow after arrow, killing wargs with ease. I make death pits, and move the earth beneath the enemy to put them in the archer’s line of sight. We work together flawlessly and cut down on the numbers of orcs still alive. I hear Thorin shout to the archer. I keep on shifting the earth as I archive the archer’s name. Kíli glances back to Thorin while I cover him. I send rocks up to trip the wargs up, before he’s close to my side speaking to me.

“Gandalf has found an escape route, we need to fall back.”

“Go, I’ll cover you.” I say as I send a shockwave towards the oncoming pack of wargs and orcs. I watch as they go sprawling back and set off running after Kíli. I watch the archer jump down into the crevice and follow after him, an arrow flying over my head to kill an orc that had jumped after me. Impressive reflexes, I think before I crash into Kíli whose lying on the ground with his bow in hand. Kíli grunts painfully as my full weight falls atop of him.

“Mahal, but you are heavy.” The archer groans as he struggles to breathe.

Thorin behead the orc and looks at us with a guarded expression before Dwalin’s shouted news of a path has him looking away. The tattooed dwarf doesn’t know if we should follow it or not. Another dwarf tells him to follow it and the company begins moving into the path.

I push off the archer and hold out my hand, “Sorry about that, and thanks for the save.”

Kíli grabs my hand and pulls himself up. I grunt with surprise, he’s heavier than he looks. The archer’s handsome, in a dark brooding fashion so I’m left startled as he turns mischievous honey brown eyes to me. “No need to thank me. My name’s Kíli at your service,” he gives me a bow before straightening with an infectious grin, “and this is my brother Fíli.” I turn to see a golden haired dwarf with smiling deep blue eyes walk up to us.

“Fíli, at your service.” The dwarf bows before standing straight with a small crooked grin.

Fíli’s shorter than his brother by only a few inches, which means that I don’t have to look that far down at him. His long mane of gold hair is beautiful. Two braids on either side controlled most of the free hair and kept it out of the dwarf’s face, and funnily enough his moustache had braids. His beard’s close shaven, so unlike most of the group, but in a similar style to Thorin’s. His skin’s sun kissed, and he’s dressed in dark leather with twin blades strapped on his hips. Golden eyebrows frame smiling blue eyes that are inspecting me just as I’m inspecting him. “Constance Williamson, pleasure to meet you both.” I look away, strangely embarrassed, and look at Gandalf who’s ahead of me.

The old wizard has a small smile on his face, hidden mostly by his bushy beard. I leave the brothers and walk up to the wizard. “You know where we’re headed don’t you?” I question as I stretch out my senses. “A sizable settlement north of here,” I say as I look to the wizard, “what’s there?”

Thorin walks towards us, “Where are you leading us to?”

Gandalf looks at the regal dwarf and speaks cautiously, “The Last Homely House East of the Sea.”

Thorin’s expression darkens dangerously, “This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy?”

I pull up a stone wall at the front of the group, halting our procession, and turn to the grey robed wizard. Radagast had said that he trusted Gandalf but I remember his tale of how one Maia had fallen into corruption. Who was to say that Gandalf was any different? I face the wizard with a hard look, “Enemy? You better explain fast wizard, I’m not going to let anything, or anyone, get in the way of the success of my mission.”

Gandalf looks insulted and angry, not knowing who to glare at first Thorin or me. In the end he settles on Thorin. “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

I inch closer to Thorin, only for Gandalf to give me an exasperated look as if I’m purposefully doing this to annoy him.

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.” Thorin says as he raises his chin in defiance.

“Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the talking to me.” Gandalf says as if he’s talking to an unruly child. “Besides, the lord of that settlement will be able to handle what Radagast gave me.” The grey wizard tells me with a stern look.

I see Thorin step away, unable to fight that logic, but I stay there watching the wizard with a guarded look. I trust the grey wizard because Radagast trusts him, but that trust is tentative. The wizard hasn’t proven himself to me, and I don’t make a habit in trusting people. Gandalf holds my gaze as I step closer, aware that Thorin has stopped walking in order to hear our conversation. “I’m trusting you not to get in the way of my mission, that trust is thanks to Radagast but I’ll only give you this one warning wizard.” I say slowly as I step closer, tilting my head back to narrow my eyes at him. My forehead’s set into a deep scowl as I give my warning, “You betray them, betray _me_ , and you will regret it. I have a long memory and I don’t forgive easily. You don’t want me as an enemy.” I push down the stone wall and make my way to the front of the group, not waiting to see if Gandalf has a response to that. I pass the silent exiled king and catch up to the small creature that looks like a man but child-sized.

The small man keeps pace with me, the heavy feel of eyes at our backs making him uncomfortable. He clears his throat a few times before looking around as if the surrounding rocks are interesting.

I keep my gaze forward, looking miles ahead of us in order to check for any signs of danger. I hear a strange guttural sound coming from behind me and am almost tempted to look back. I don’t. I keep on walking, the constant ethereal shine of my armor sending a glow to the rocks closest to me. Another throat clearing from the small man in a span of five minutes has me looking to the side with a blank look.

The small man catches my gaze and clears his throat again before giving an awkward embarrassed look. “Uh….wonderful weather we’re having.” As soon as he speaks he looks to the side with a wide-eyed look of mortification.

I raise a brow in dry amusement. “Yes it is isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced properly.” He says as he looks up at me with a barely concealed look of curiosity.

“No, kinda been the wrong time for it. You know running for our lives and all that.”

“Yes, terrible business. Goodness, what have I gotten myself into?” The small man asks with a dazed expression before clearing his throat and looking at me with a small smile. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” Bilbo says before another dazed hits him, “Oh dear, I’m starting to speak like them.”

I can’t help but grin at Bilbo Baggins. He’s like a breath of fresh air, all that was right in the world that needed to be protected. Sort of like Radagast. “Constance Williamson, pleasure to meet you Bilbo Baggins.” I stay contemplative as I eye Bilbo from the side for a few beats before my curiosity can’t be contained any longer. “Baggins I noticed that you’re not exactly similar to the dwarves, are you something else? A different species?”

Bilbo smooth’s down his vest, and clears his throat proudly, “I’m a hobbit, from the Shire. Bag End is my home and I quiet miss it.” The hobbit tells me with longing.

“A hobbit…” I say as I look him over. He’s compact with slightly pointed ears. He looks soft; probably from living a life of comfort. The most interesting detail, in my opinion, is that he doesn’t wear shoes. In fact, his feet are not only bare but very large and hairy. When I look up I see that Bilbo’s looking at me with a guarded look. “They look quite sturdy.”

Bilbo blinks in surprise before smiling, “Yes, they are.”

I look away and see that we’re almost upon the hidden settlement. Turning a sharp corner I see that the path opens up and there in the distance is an incredible sight. “Whoa.”

“Rivendell.” Bilbo says in awe.

The city is beautiful. Artfully carved arch ways stand out besides a waterfall, the trees swaying gently with the breeze. It looks like something out of a Disney movie. The buildings are almost delicate looking as if they were masterfully interwoven with the surrounding nature. I feel along with my abilities, and see that the way the rock is shaped is amazing. It’s if the very earth had been created this way. I am, to say the least, very impressed.

Gandalf steps up to the front of the group, along with Thorin, and I fall to their backs as we walk towards a bridge leading into Rivendell. I see no immediate danger, only faint vibrations of a large party riding to us; but I have a feeling that that was the same party that ended the orcs after we had fallen into the hidden crevice. Stepping off the bridge and into the entrance to Rivendell, we’re met by a tall delicate looking man with straight brown hair and pointy ears.

I watch as the grey wizard strides forward, his face relaxed into an easy smile. I look at the man, seeing him eye me with barely concealed interest before Gandalf shifts to block his view. I stand straight, arms loose and ready for anything as the rest of the company comes to stand in a loose circle. I watch Thorin stare at the wizard and elf with calculating eyes when a loud horn sounds off from behind us.

I don’t turn to face the riders, already knowing that they were on their way and have taken security measures for it. I notice that both elf and wizard turn to face the riders with straightened backs and a respectful tilt to their heads.

Whoever it is that’s coming is someone very important. I’m about to convey this to Thorin but am surprised when a large heated hand grabs my hip and yanks me back with ease within the circle. I blink with surprise as the dwarves close ranks and lift their weapons. I look at the hand that’s still on my hip and followed it to its owner.

Fíli’s standing close to me, eyes hard as he gives me a nod before pulling away and pulling out his dual swords. Why would this dwarf worry himself over my safety?

I push that thought out of my mind as I turn the stone around us into quicksand, the first line of precautions that I take. I see Thorin turn to look at me from over his shoulder, his eyes so cold that I automatically stand straighter. He gives me a slight, so faint that I’m not even sure if it happens, scowl before turning forward again.

What was that about? I let out a breath and feel as if I had barely passed muster in front of my commanding officer. General Hammer was a tough son of a bitch, but Thorin made him look like a pushover.

I feel the vibrations of horses before I see them, growing stronger with each gallop towards us. The animals ride to us, their riders steering them to circle us, but when one tries to get close it quickly rears back. The air’s filled with loud neighing and soft clicks from the riders calming their mounts. The elves riding the horses have no other choice but to give us room unless they wanted to get stuck.

“That’s a very interesting skill you have there lass.” An older dwarf with a meticulously groomed bread says with an approving grin.

“Thanks.” I say as I look out to the herd of elves staring at us with narrow eyes. I see them stare at the dwarves before latching onto me. I don’t move a muscle, my eyes not on them but watching them none the less. I see through the earth as one horse, out of the herd of twenty, moves forward to us. This must be the leader. The rest of the elves are moving to accommodate the rider and I focus on him. An annoyed sigh has me looking to the side. Gandalf’s giving me an annoyed look, I roll my eyes at him in response. Just because he trusts the elves doesn’t mean that I do. Everyone’s a potential threat.

“What is going on here?” A man asks loudly as horses snort in the background. “I leave with a hunting party and come back to find my home altered.”

I look as a sole rider makes his way to the front of our group, his horse tossing its head as it moves carefully around my quicksand. The rider dismounts and I see that unlike the elf by Gandalf, this elf is notably masculine even with that certain something that I’m beginning to see that all elves have. The strong jawed elf is alluring, with dark brown hair flowing down his back and front. He has no facial hair, except for some serious eyebrows framing deep brown eyes. The elf doesn’t glance at us as he goes straight towards the wizard with a raised brow.

“Gandalf.” The elf says in greeting.

“Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says with a bow of his head, “please forgive Constance she is…new to the world.” Gandalf explains as he gives the elf a resigned smile.

I send the grey wizard an unimpressed look before turning to this Lord Elrond only to find him already staring at me in wonder. I raise my brows in question.

Gandalf sighs as he leans on his staff, as if asking for strength to go on, “I’m afraid manners are a concept that hasn’t sunk in yet.”

Lord Elrond walks forward only to stop short by the quicksand turning into sharp spikes. He looks at the new barrier with a look of astonishment. He looks up to glance at me before Thorin steps up and stands in front of me. Lord Elrond’s expression turns into a questioning one before getting the message that he’s not going to get any closer. The elf steps back and smiles. “I remember a similar luminous golden armor, in the First Age many many years ago. I remember the Vala who cut through Balrogs and armies of dark foul creatures with nay but his fists and a booming laughter.” Lord Elrond says as he stares at my armor, ancient eyes lost in memory. “Tulkas the Valiant, Champion of the Valar. I remember when he came to Middle Earth to join the host of Valinor against the Dark Lord. His strength was unmatched and the enemy trembled in fear at the sight of his golden presence. He helped turn the tide against the Great Enemy and banished him from this lands…I did not know that he had taken the same path as Aulë in creating life.”

A Dark Lord, wizards, dwarves, and elves...Middle Earth was beginning to look like something out of Harry Potter. “Surprise.” I drawl out with little enthusiasm after Elrond comes out of his little trip down memory lane.

“Indeed it is.” Elrond says before he turns to Gandalf. “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near.”

“Ah.” Gandalf says with a sheepish grin, “that may have been us.”

I watch as Thorin raises his head majestically high as this Elrond turns back to look at him.

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.” Elrond welcomes the dwarf with a genuine expression.

“I do not believe we have met.” Thorin says as he looks up at the elf with a guarded expression.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.” Thorin says with subtle scorn.

Gandalf, I see, closes his eyes in silent agony while Elrond’s lips twitch with amusement. The elf turns and begins to speak in a flowery language that I don’t understand but sounds pretty as fuck. I stare at the grey wizard, daring him to try something but all the grey wizard does is glance at me with a grin and continue speaking in that light musical language.

“What does he say? Does he offer us insult?” One of the dwarves demands with gritted teeth. He’s a broad bodied dwarf with red hair that blazes brightly like fire. The dwarf hefts up his axe and takes one threatening step forward.

“No Master Glóin, he's offering you food.” Gandalf answers in a weary voice.

Glóin looks shrewdly at the pair of males as he draws back to the group of dwarves. I stand amongst them, inches taller than most, as they huddled and begin speaking in that weird guttural language of theirs. Soon they come to an agreement and face the brunette elf. “Very well then. Lead on!”

The dwarves make to go forward but stop at the still risen spikes. One by one they turn to look at me, but I ignore them. My focus is still on Elrond and his elves that are still surrounding us. I keep looking at the elf, measuring him slowly as something within me tells me that this elf…Elrond…can be trusted. It isn’t the kind of gut instinct that one is born with, no this is actually something else; the same thing that had me almost boiling with anger at the sight of the bundled up artifact that Radagast took from Dol Guldur. This instinct isn’t human, it must be what Tulkas gave me…a type of sensing ability. I scowl as I stare at the calm looking elf, feeling the dwarves at my side slowly shifting their weight at the tense atmosphere that I have created.

Gandalf’s giving me the stank eye, probably wondering why the hell wasn’t I bringing down the spikes down and just move on. The truth is that after so many years in war I’ve become intensely paranoid. This sensing thing that Tulkas gave me, I don’t know whether I should trust it or not.

I feel a warm calloused hand grab my wrist; I look down into Thorin’s near electric blue eyes and see him give me a nod. “I have heard of Lord Elrond…he’s a good enough person…for an elf.”

I stare at the exiled king and his small, so small that I think I imagine it, smirk and nod. If Thorin, who in the little time that I’ve known him and his profound hate of elves, says that Elrond is straight then I suppose it’s okay. I’ll be keeping a better eye on my newfound sensing ability. It could be a new weapon to be used.

I look to the elf in question and see that he’s looking at me with an amused air filled with patience. I twitch my fingers and the spikes sink back into stone, the walkway looking as if nothing had ever happened to it. The dwarves stride forward, intent on food while I hang back with Gandalf. Elrond has taken the lead with Thorin.

“So many questions…why would the Vala send you with no knowledge of this world?” The grey wizard asks.

“Sometimes, it’s better to see a situation with an unbiased outlook. Someone who has no opinion of anything would be more capable of noticing something than someone who is familiar can’t.”

Gandalf hums as he walks leisurely beside me. My ability, now that I’m actively noticing it, is telling me that Gandalf’s a good guy, but he’s a crafty little shit regardless. Withholding information and leading the dwarves to a place that he knew they wouldn’t want to go but needed to be. We catch up to Elrond and the rest, Gandalf walking up to the Lord elf. “Kind of you to invite us,” Gandalf says as we walk, “not really dressed for dinner.”

“Well, you never are.” Elrond says with a smile.

Elrond and his delicate looking sidekick, ‘Lindir is a male my dear’, leads us into an open patio that has a marvelous looking dinner table. After sitting down, Gandalf on one side still apologizing to Lindir for me calling him a woman and Fíli on the other, a flurry of elves come out to serve us food. Gandalf finally has Lindir appeased for my ‘faux pass’, but truth is that I knew Lindir was a guy; but a certain dark haired archer didn’t know that. Considering that the archer saved my life, I blatantly called Lindir a woman for Kíli’s sake. The archer was staring at Lindir with interested eyes and talking about how not all she-elves were bad looking. The look of embarrassment on the archers face was priceless.

Settling myself in the chair I hear it give a groan of protest at my weight and feel eyes on me. I ignore it and wait until the server moves away from me before looking at my plate. Salad, fruits and nuts are the primary element of food and I feel myself frown. Since I’ve gotten here I’ve noticed that I could go a while without eating, longer than humanly possible, but when I do need to eat I needed to **eat.** This vegan diet isn’t going to cut it. I can hear the dwarves complaining about the lack of meat but I tune it all out. I eat my salad in silence, eating Ori’s too since he’s too busy complaining about not liking green foods. After I’m finished I look up and see a server. I glance at Gandalf, who’s in a hushed conversation with Elrond and Thorin, and stand. I need food, my stomach feels empty and tight with hunger. I haven’t eaten much of anything since I’ve come to this planet, just fruits. I walk up to a server and ask to be taken to the kitchens. The elf doesn’t seem to want to take me but my stomach in that moment comes to my rescue by giving an unnaturally loud growl of hunger. I’m taken to the kitchen quickly after that and I finally get to eat my fill. Luckily they had some meat and I give a sigh of happiness as I thank the elves that manned the kitchen.

I come back to the dinner table, my limbs feeling lax and my mind humming with joy with a good meal, and am about to sit down when Elrond lifts his hand and tells me to not bother. I watch as Thorin, Gandalf, Bilbo and Balin stand along with the Lord elf and motions me to follow.

We leave the rest of the company behind, their loud boisterous voices fading as we walk further into Rivendell. I see that we’re headed to a ledge, and as we get closer I see that a round pillar of crystal stone is right on the edge of the cliff. I can hear the wizard and the elf speaking but suddenly tune in when the stream of noise is cut short by Thorin’s fierce interruption.

“Our business is no concern of elves.” Thorin says in a dark voice.

Gandalf sighs in annoyance, a sound that’s fast becoming familiar to me since I’ve joined them. “For goodness sake Thorin, show him the map.”

“It is the legacy of my people.” Thorin says firmly as he stops in the middle of the corridor, face shrouded in the shadows. “It is mine to protect, as is its secrets.”

I didn’t know that the hostility of elves and dwarves ran so deep, so deep that it would interfere with the success of a mission. Bilbo shifts his weight awkwardly next to me, his face set in a worried expression.

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves.” Gandalf whispers with incredulity as he looks at the exiled king. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond.” Gandalf orders, his voice growing sharper as he went on.

Lord Elrond looks to Thorin, the elf’s expression serious and respectful. Soon Thorin, with noticeable unwillingness, reaches into his tunic and pulls out a folded paper.

Balin, who had been pacing next to Thorin, looks at the younger dwarf with a shocked expression. He reaches out to stop Thorin, but Thorin pushes him back, the exiled kings eyes never leaving the elf lords as he steps closer, map clutched in his hands. The exiled king hands it gently over to the tall elf, who receives it in the manner it was given to him.

Elrond unfolds it, hands light and graceful, mindful of its ancient quality and looks to Thorin with surprise once he fully unfurls it. “Erebor.” The city name echoes through the halls and sends a weird chill up my spine. “What is your interest in this map?” Elrond asks politely.

Thorin looks up at the elf with furrowed brows and dark eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt to give a mocking answer before Gandalf answers with a quick glance to the dwarf. “It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden texts.” Gandalf says with ease. Elrond looks to the map and turns to the light, the grey wizard takes that chance to give Thorin and us a look to keep our mouths shut. Thorin closes his mouth with a smirk and nods his understanding. “You still read ancient Dwarvish do you not?” Gandalf asks Elrond, who’s turning over the map when he suddenly says something in elvish. Gandalf hums with interest. “Moon runes, of course it is.” Gandalf says with a small smile before he turns to look at us. “An easy thing to miss.”

Elrond huffs a laugh, “Well, in this case, that is true.” Elrond turns the map with evident interest in his expression, “Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.” Elrond finally looks up from the map to look at Thorin.

“Can you read them?” Thorin asks, his voice for once polite and with a hint of hope.

Elrond nods and we continue our way to the ledge that I had seen. We walk through an archway and soon the sound of rushing water surrounds us. It’s magical, there’s no other way to describe it. The waterfall, the moonlight, it all makes me want to smile with the beauty of it all. It’s been a while since I have been surrounded by such peace. I don’t smile though, because even with the beauty the point of being here is to decipher a map that leads to Erebor in a mission that requires my charge to stay breathing.

Elrond walks up to the crystal pillar, “These runes were written on a Midsummer’s eve, by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem that you were meant to come to Rivendell.” Elrond tells Thorin as he smooth’s the map atop the crystal. “Fate is with you Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight.” Elrond grins at the dwarf before pointing up to the sky where the clouds part to show the crescent moon.

The sense of power surging has me looking at the crystal pillar lighting up. I step closer and see small symbols appear, like invisible ink. I can practically feel Thorin vibrating in place with excitement.

“Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key hole.” Elrond says haltingly as he reads the ancient language.

“Durin’s Day?” Bilbo and I ask in tandem. We look at each other in surprise, Bilbo flushing with amusement. The line of Durin must be very important if they have a day named after them.

“It is the start of the Dwarven new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together.” Gandalf tells us.

“This is ill news.” Thorin says ominously as he looks to Balin. “Summer is passing. Durin Days will soon be upon us.”

Balin steps up, his face fierce in the moonlight. “We still have time.”

“Time for what?” I ask.

“To find the entrance.” Balin looks at me as he replies before turning back to his king. “We have to be standing in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”

“So this is your purpose? To enter the mountain?” Elrond asks as his impressive eyebrows furrow and his lips thin in disapproval.

“The door? Mountain? The door into a mountain is made of wood?” I ask to no one in particular, hoping someone will answer.

“Of course it isn’t.” Of course it’s Gandalf that answers with an impatient wave of his hand, as if my question was silly.

“Then it doesn’t matter if we’re late.” I roll my eyes with annoyance before Gandalf shushes me. Did they not connect the dots with what I’m capable of? If they need to get into the mountain than they don’t need a key…unless it’s protected by magic…but then I’ve never been in a situation like this so maybe magic is enough to stop me.

Thorin gives me with a hard glare before turning his attention to Elrond. “What of it?”

“There are some who would not deem it wise.” Elrond answers as he hands the map back to Thorin. Thorin snatches it back as Gandalf asks the elf what he means. “You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth.” Elrond says mysteriously as he walks away.

As the dwarves walk away, a faint glint of hope in their eyes, Bilbo trailing after them I stay back. I’m not worried about Thorin right now, he’s got his crew with him and I doubt these elves will try anything funny. I stay back to hear what the wizard and the elf say, but they’re speaking in elvish, graceful flow of words seeming to send out calming waves.

I don’t trust it.

I finally move from my spot, the crystal powering down, and walk down the hallway before I stop and lean against a stone wall. A wave of sudden realization crashes through me, like waves crashing against rocks. I am utterly alone on this planet, on protection detail to some short ass male that has a grudge against some fairy looking elves. I close my eyes and feel Gandalf coming towards me with the Lord elf waiting in the distance. I had noticed the gleam in Elrond’s eye, from the first moment on the bridge; he wants to take a closer look at me. I get that funny feeling that I’m going to be getting that look a lot here.

“When was the last time you’ve gotten a nights rest my friend?” Gandalf asks as he stops to stand next to me, the slight tap of his wooden staff sending ripples through the stone.

I keep my eyes closed, seeing him well enough through the rock, and take in his scent. He smells of smoke. The kind of smoke that comes from warm fireplaces, comfy chairs, hot chocolate and love, the kind of smoke that tugs at you, reminding you of better times. “I don’t need much sleep anymore.” I let out a deep sigh and feel the warm vibes from the wizard. They speak of comfort and understanding and all I want to do is curl up and just sleep with it surrounding me.

“But you do need it none the less…I’m sure you know that we are going to have an issue with leaving this place.” Gandalf tells me as the sound of rustling reaches my ears. I hum as a spark of fire echoes through the hallway and the scent of smoke billows about me. “We will need a distraction in order for Thorin and the company to leave unhindered.” Gandalf continue before taking a deep puff of his pipe.

I slowly open my eyes to the darkened hallway and turn to look at him lazily. The grey wizard’s leaning on his staff, watery blue eyes narrowed in thought as his teeth clamp down on his pipe. Smoke’s curling up into the air, pushed out through his nose and mouth. For a moment Gandalf doesn’t look like a living being, but a shadow of smoke, coiling about in a mysterious magical way that speaks of ancient power. I feel small for once. I honestly forgot how it feels to be small and insignificant, normal, I relish in it for a second. For too long I felt numb and empty, too strong and durable compared to others, especially now that I’m in Middle Earth. I had forgotten that there is always someone stronger, someone who can push you down and make you submissive. I had forgotten that you can never stop trying to get stronger, to not care about anything but the mission. My eyes sting and my breath hitches in my lungs. The grey smoke that’s Gandalf sways to look at me with burning eyes and I feel a tear run its way down my cheek.

“Have courage my friend, you are not alone in this world…” The swirl of smoke says warmly.

“I am alone…there is no one like me on this plane of existence…” I whisper.

Gandalf puffs out more smoke before it clears and he becomes solid once more, a gentle smile on his lips as he lays a weathered warm hand atop my armored shoulder. “You are not alone, you have myself and some very loud dwarves and a gentle hobbit with you.”

I stare at the wizard and snort with humor. “I suppose you’re right,” I wipe my face and take in a deep breath, “you said something about a distraction?”

Gandalf smiles and tilts his head in a silent command to follow. We catch up to Elrond and Gandalf wastes no time in talking. “With or without our help, the dwarves will march on the mountain. They’re determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe that Thorin Oakenshield feels that he is answerable to anyone.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

“Nor for that matter am I.” Gandalf adds with a puffed chest.

I’m walking quietly next to Gandalf when I feel it, two beings suddenly appearing within Rivendell. I jerk in place and hold out a hand to grab Gandalf.

“What is it?” Gandalf asks.

I glance at Elrond suspiciously, “Someone’s here…just got here actually.”

Elrond nods, “It is not me you must answer to.”

We follow the elf and I hear Gandalf gasp. I turn to look and see a shimmer of white and silver. At first all I see is long waving rolls of gold hair held back by a delicate silver crown of leaves. I watch in awe an elf turns gracefully to face us, bathed in the moonlight. A face too beautiful to be human looks to Gandalf with a deep smile filled with great affectation, before glimmering blue eyes catch sight of me. I see the light in those eyes shine with recognition and the smile widens with surprise. I’m struck dumb by the beauty of this elf, and compared to her I feel like a dirty beast.

Gandalf steps forward, bowing reverently, “Lady Galadriel.” The weight of reverence that Gandalf says her name breaks through my daze. I’m able to finally breathe as the elf looks away. I take slow breaths as this Galadriel speaks to the grey wizard in elvish, the wizard answering in kind before turning to look at Elrond. “I had no idea Lord Elrond had sent for you.”

“He didn’t.” A deep rusty voice comes from the shadows. “I did.”

I watch as Gandalf winces and turns to face this newcomer, who’s also dressed in all white. “Saruman.”

I size this old guy up. He’s got a white staff in his hand and long pin straight white hair. I can’t help but feel a weird off putting vibe coming from him. Like when you meet someone and they have bad body odor, tolerable but annoying. You don’t know whether you don’t like the person because they’re assholes, or because they don’t know the existence of deodorant.

“You’ve been busy of late, my friend.” Saruman says with raised brows.

Condescending ass. I scrunch my nose as I look at him and step closer to Gandalf. I figure these two in white are the ones that need distracting from the dwarves. I look away from the man in white as weird pressure builds up on my head. It feels like a migraine almost. I feel my brows furrowing into a scowl of pain as the feeling morphs. It feels like something’s trying to worm its way into my head…sort of like how Tulkas went Severus Snape on me.

Nope, fuck if I’m going to let that happen again.

I clench my fists and narrow my eyes in concentration, imagining that my mind is a giant fist. I can feel Gandalf turning to look at me but I pay him no mind, I need to knock whoever’s trying to invade my mind out. I have my fist formed, hoping to hell that this work’s, and with a sharp movement I launch it at the invading presence. I feel the blow as it makes impact, the resistance of the invader pushing back against my fist. I breathe harshly as I push with all my fury and finally feel the other presence fly out of my mind. I pant, as if I had run a fucking marathon, exhausted as the pain lessens in my head and hear a loud crash.

“Lady Galadriel!” The three males yell as they rush to the blonde haired elf who’s sprawled like a rag doll on the stone floor.

I turn to glare weakly at the fallen elf, her silver spun crown rolling on the stone until it comes to a stop at my feet. Gandalf and Elrond hoist her up with such care that I wonder just who the hell she is to have them treating her like a queen. The small group begin to speak elvish hurriedly, but the she-elf ignores them as she looks up at me. I see a stark blood red trail coming from her delicate nose. I glare at her, that nose bleed confirmation that it was her who was trying to get into my mind. I bend to pick up the silver crown and hold it in my hands. It’s light and artfully crafted, the leaf designs looking natural and pleasing. I twirl it once before throwing it at Elrond, who catches it one handed with a narrowed look. “I don’t recommend you doing that ever again. I won’t be so gentle next time.” Galadriel gives me a considering look which I return with a sneer.

“And who are you?” Saruman asks as he stalks quietly towards me, his staff aimed at me. I turn and see the second in which he recognizes the armor. “Impossible, the Vala of that symbol has never in all the ages created any life.” Saruman says in disbelief as he keeps the staff aimed at me. “There hasn’t been any involvement from the Valar since the First Age.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” I ask in a quiet voice, relaxing my hands as I move into a better position to attack.

“We would have known…I would have _felt_ it.” Saruman says calmly, his voice old and smooth and yet sending a streak of anger through me.

“Apparently you weren’t considered important enough to have been informed.” I shoot back as I lift my head higher, eyes narrowing in irritation.

“How dare you.” Saruman practically breathes out as a dark heavy feeling surrounds us. “Gandalf surely you aren’t as foolish as to trust this woman blindly?” The white wizard asks.

I don’t even bother letting Gandalf answer, cutting in immediately. “I can feel you, you know. I can feel all of you. It’s like a vibe, an almost tangible presence in the air. Elrond feels like a cool gentle stream of water, calming and flowing effortlessly against obstacles. She feels like moonlight, soft and light; Gandalf…” I say as I turn to look at the grey wizard, “he feels like a well-tended fireplace, warm and comforting.” I turn to look at this Saruman, walking closer to him regardless of the staff that’s pointed at me, “You feel like a wilting presence, just barely keeping the rot away. I wonder what that says about you.” I murmur as I watch the white wizard’s dark eyes narrow.

“Enough.” Galadriel’s soft sweet voice drifts to us. “We have not gathered to engage in useless squabbling.”

I keep my eyes on the white wizard even as I watch through the earth as the others walk to the long table off to the side.

“You are right my Lady, there is no time for childish quarrels.” Saruman says smoothly as he pulls his staff upright and glides past me.

I clench my jaw and make a face at the bad smell that the white wizard faintly exudes and turn to follow. I don’t know whether to get closer or just stand behind Gandalf, this small group of four look like they’ve done this a thousand times and have no room for one more.

“Constance, join us. It is not every day that a being of direct making of the Valar is here in Middle-Earth.” Elrond says as he signals to a chair, “Welcome to the White Council.”

I step up and take a seat next to Gandalf, and wait for someone to speak. I don’t have to wait long.

“The dragon has long been on your mind.” Galadriel says as she gracefully makes her way to the table, eyes on Gandalf and any trace of blood gone on her perfect face.

Gandalf lays his weathered hands on the table and sighs. “This is true, my lady. Smaug owes allegiance to no one, but if he should side with the Enemy... A dragon could be used to terrible effect.”

Saruman huffs lightly from where he sits at the head of the table. “What enemy? Gandalf, the Enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never regain his full strength.”

Elrond settles his hands on his chair’s arm rests, seated next to Saruman, and looks to the grey wizard with a slight frown. “Gandalf, for four hundred years, we have lived in peace - a hard-won, watchful peace.”

Gandalf intertwines his fingers together, a sharp questioning gaze to the elf lord. “Are we, are we at peace? Trolls have come down from the mountains; they are raiding villages, destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the road!”

Elrond raises his brows unimpressed, “Hardly a prelude to war.”

“Always you must meddle, looking for trouble when none exist...” Saruman adds quickly with a look of old familiar annoyance. The white wizard is cut short in his tirade by Galadriel.

“Let him speak.” She says lowly, but with an undertone of steel.

Gandalf gives a look of gratitude to the golden haired elf and looks to Elrond and Saruman, “There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug, something far more powerful. We could remain blind to it, but it will not be ignoring us, that I can promise you. A sickness lies over the Greenwood. The Woodsmen who live there now call it Mirkwood and, uh, they say...” Gandalf trails off sheepishly.

I grin at that. I know just why he trailed off, Radagast. Good old eccentric wizard that looks like he’s off into his own world than not; not exactly a creditable witness.

Saruman tilts his head and says with a faint mocking, “Well, don't stop now. Tell us what the Woodsmen say.”

Gandalf looks to Saruman, “They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol Guldur, a sorcerer who could summon the dead.”

Saruman clicks his tongue in disapproval, his hand tightening on his staff. “That's absurd. No such power exists in this world. This ‘Necromancer’ is nothing more than a mortal man, a conjurer dabbling in black magic.”

Gandalf nods in agreement, “And so I thought too, but Radagast had seen...”

Saruman straightens in disbelief, “Radagast? Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow.”

Rude. No wonder Radagast looks like he’s sucking on a sour lemon when he talks about Saruman the White.

Gandalf frowns as he looks to his fellow wizard. “Well, he's odd, I'll grant you. He lives a solitary life...”

Saruman shakes his head, “It's not that. It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms! They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth.”

“Radagast is strange true,” I say catching everyone’s attention, “when I fell into Middle-Earth he was the first person I met. I thought he was crazy, but I would trust my life in his hands.” I say looking to each and every one of the members of the White Council. “I went with Radagast to Dol Guldur. You did not feel what I felt. That forest has a menacing feel that grows stronger the closer you get to that old fortress. I stood close to the entrance and even though it looked empty, it didn’t _feel_ empty. I felt something in there that was wrong, dirty…and barely alive. It’s not abandoned, and I would keep an eye on it if I were you.”

Elrond taps his fingers against the chair before speaking, “In any case Gandalf, what worries me is that you would try and keep us ignorant on this endeavor.”

Gandalf raises his brows in a show of innocence, “Of course I was going to tell you, I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you could trust that I know what I am doing.”

Elrond hums in doubt, “Do you? That dragon has slept for 60 years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast...” The elf lord doesn’t bother to continue to make his point clear.

“But if we succeed. If the Dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East will be strengthened!” Gandalf says as he smacks the table to make his point.

“It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.” Elrond counters.

“It is also dangerous to do nothing. The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright. What is it you fear?” Gandalf shoots back quick.

Elrond turns sharply, the rest of us quiet as the two pitch their arguments to each other, “Have you forgotten? A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall? Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth.”

I turn to Gandalf, waiting to see what he will say. Elrond makes a good point, how can we know that Thorin won’t fall? Gandalf leans forward, his eyes bright with determination for the rest of the council to see his point. “Does it not worry you that the last of the Dwarf-rings should simply vanish along with its bearer? Of the Seven Dwarf-rings, four were consumed by dragons; two were taken by Sauron before he fell in Mordor... the fate of the last Dwarf-ring remains unknown, the ring that was borne by Thrain.”

“Thorin’s father...” I say with an understanding. “You think this is all connected don’t you? It would make sense…but if that’s true…then the mountain and the dragon have long been marked by the enemy.”

Saruman looks at me for a quick moment with a thoughtful expression, before turning to Gandalf. “Without the Ruling Ring of Power, the Seven are no value to the Enemy. To control the other Rings, he needs the One. And that Ring was lost long, long ago. It was swept out to sea by the waters of the Anduin.”

At least there’s that, I suppose.

We fall into contemplative silence, until Galadriel breaks it. “You carry something. It came to you from Radagast. He found it in Dol Guldur.”

“Yes.” Gandalf says with a small nod.

“Show it to me.” Galadriel says with a slight frown.

I turn to look as Gandalf goes into his robe, his wooden staff leaning against the table, and pulls out the leather bundle that Radagast had been carrying until he passed it on to Gandalf. I feel myself go rigid with tension and my face twitch with the need to hiss.

Elrond steps close, his face set into a deep scowl, “What is that?”

Gandalf’s face falls into shadow, his wrinkles seeming more prominent. “A relic…of Mordor.”

Elrond leans back with a hiss when the leather flap is opened to reveal its content, “A Morgul-blade!”

Galadriel’s eyes are wide with shock and a shadow falls over her, “Made for the Witch-king of Angmar and buried with him. When Angmar fell, the Men of the North took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the High Fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rock, they buried him. In a tomb so dark, it would never come to light.”

Elrond shakes his head, his brows furrowing deeply, “This is not possible. A powerful spell lies upon those tombs, they can NOT be opened.”

Saruman taps his staff to the floor, “What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?”

“I can find none.” Gandalf says.

“Because there IS none! Let us examine what we know: A single Orc pack has dared to cross the Bruinen, a dagger from a bygone age has been found and a human sorcerer who calls himself the Necromancer has taken up residence in a ruined fortress. It's not so very much. After all, the question of this Dwarvish company, however, troubles me deeply. I'm not convinced, Gandalf. I do not feel I can condone such a quest. If they had come to me, I might have spared them from this disappointment.”

I notice Gandalf stops paying attention and jump right into the conversation. “That is not for you to decide.” Saruman looks to me with narrow eyes. “Radagast was not alone when he traveled to Dol Guldur. I saw him enter those ruins, I saw him run out chased by bats and holding that blade.” I nearly hiss as I point to the exposed blade. “You’re an idiot if you push aside the threat of Dol Guldur.” I say into the quiet of the room. “Concerning the quest for Erebor that is the homeland for the Line of Durin and it’s their decision whether or not they fight for it.”

“You think that that quest will not affect us all? That is Fire Drake locked within that mountain, if he gets out unimaginable death and ruin will befall the land.” Saruman counters. “Do not speak of things you do not know, child.”

“I haven’t been a child in a long time Wizard.” I say with barely held back snarls. “True I haven’t been in this world as long as any of you, but riddle me this oh Saruman the White,” I sneer, “which of us has been in the presence of the Valar and tasked with helping the Line of Durin?”

“Tasked?” Elrond asks.

I look at him before eying the rest of the room. Galadriel’s looking at me with intense focus, Saruman with raised brows that speak of disbelief and Gandalf’s barley keeping a smile off his face. I know why he’s smiling I can feel the dwarves make their way out of Rivendell. “Yes. Tulkas tasked me with protecting the line of Durin, to help Thorin Oakenshield reclaim Erebor, and to destroy the darkness that is growing in Middle-Earth.”

“Why would Tulkas bother with the Line of Durin?” Saruman questions me, genuinely wanting to know.

“Because Aulë asked him to champion his creations; of course Tulkas couldn’t himself so that’s why I’m here.” I answer. “So you see it’s not for you to decide…any of you. This quest has been granted approval by beings much more powerful and important than you.”

“What, I wonder, led the Valar to choose you?” Saruman asks with his head held high and voice full of fake politeness that makes my skin itch.

I twitch my fingers and send twisting pillars of stone into the air, twirling them around the room. “I’m special.” I say with a stoic expression as I send the stone back to its original form. Slowly as the meeting drags on until night sky begins to slowly lighten with the rising of the sun. With each passing second Thorin and his company makes head way away from Rivendell. Saruman stares at me with a look that has my guard coming up, but not because I feel like he’s going to attack me, no…he has my guard coming up because he’s looking at me like he wants to cut me open and see what makes me work. I look away from him and look at Elrond, “Any questions?”

Elrond rubs his forehead, “Too many to count…for now let’s convene until later on. We all need to rest.”

Saruman stands, his white robes gleaming with power as he walks out the room without even saying goodbye, Elrond following him after. I also stand to leave, giving Gandalf and Galadriel a moment alone. They’re looking into each other’s eyes with a deep fondness that has me turning away in discomfort.

As I step out and walk down the walkway I’m met by Lindir, who gives me a barely there glare. I smirk at him, and hold back saying anything to the offended elf as he shows me to a room where I can sleep and wash up. I thank him, because I wasn’t raised in the wild, and take my time in removing the gleaming gold armor. Placing them on the bed, I take stock of the room and laugh as I notice that it looks like it was styled from a Disney princess movie. I strip out of my black clothing and combat boots until I’m left in my underwear and sports bra. I stretch my body, feeling knots of tension between my shoulder blades and release a sigh of relief. The elves had already filled a large tub nearly to the brim with hot water. Groaning in thanks for their kindness I shuck off the rest of my clothes and practically jump into the tub. The heated water feels wonderful against my tight muscles and I lie there staring up at the ceiling. I look around and find soap and let my body run on autopilot as I clean myself, the water turning a slight murky color from weeks’ worth of grease and dirt.

Afterwards, I dump my clothes in the water and begin washing and rinsing it before laying them out to dry. I find a brush and sit on the mattress, naked as the day I was born, and slowly begin to brush my hair. The rhythmic motion of it lulls me into a sense of comfort, mind just focused on detangling my hair. Once finished I do a simple braid, ripping a strip of cloth from the bed to tie it close.

Gandalf had secured the distraction and the dwarves were able to get away unhindered. With every step they take, the farther away I am to ensuring that Thorin remains among the living. Not to say that Thorin isnt strong enough to keep himself alive, but there’s the small issue of him being hunted down. We need to leave Rivendell, or at least I need to leave, and catch up with the dwarves before they lengthen the distance between us.

I sigh and look around the room, feeling more of an outsider then before, and crawl under the covers. Gandalf will come around to wake me, in the meantime I’m going to take advantage and sleep before facing whatever the hell Middle-Earth’s going to throw at me next.


	2. The one where Goblins are involved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gandalf,” I say with confusion, “I know that dwarves like being in mountains and all, but somehow I’m thinking that Thorin and the rest aren’t supposed to be inside that mountain; surrounded by what looks like a fucking army.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who have hit this work up. Don't be shy in commenting people. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy.

**The one where Goblins are involved**

 

“Gandalf,” I say with confusion, “I know that dwarves like being in mountains and all, but somehow I’m thinking that Thorin and the rest aren’t supposed to be inside  _ that _ mountain; surrounded by what looks like a fucking army.” I end with a bite as I quicken my steps.

Gandalf’s in front of me, striding forward quickly, not even out of breath, staff starting to glow bright. “That, my dear, is because they’re not supposed to be. It seems as if our dwarven friends have fallen into the Goblin City of the Misty Mountains.” 

“Lemme guess, goblins aren’t allies” I can’t help but drawl out sarcastically as I scop out the Goblin City. I can feel the vibrations of thousands upon thousands of beings inside, like an ant colony. Only this one is filled with countless enemies. Fuck. Thorin Oakenshield, you’re starting to become quite the problematic mission. 

“No…let us hurry my dear.” Gandalf tells me as he swings his staff and starts chanting in this weird tongue twisting language. 

I feel the air around us start to warp, like when I was on a roller-coaster and it began to twist and turn the air streaking against me powerfully. Furrowing my brows I can’t help but think that the wizard is going to do something weird with magic. I  _ know _ that these people aren’t like the toads from back on Earth, but being around beings who aren’t human, or should I say Earthlings, still has me tense. It’s bullshit, considering that this time around  _ I’m _ the alien, but well thirteen years of racism isn’t going to be gone in a blink of an eye. The reaction to magic, to the quiet but instant distrust to everyone here, stems from the war back on Earth. I know that I should start training myself to accept this new world, this world that has become my new home, but eh what can I say? It’s slow going. Which is why I’m not down with being near Gandalf when he’s speaking in fucking tongues. I can guess that he’s going to do some kind of apparition . I’m especially not down when I feel a weird sort of tugging at my body, like how Harry Potter described it in the books. I know that it’s in our best interest to get to Thorin as soon as possible, we’re nowhere near the mountain since leaving Rivendell at first light, but that doesn’t mean shit to my stubborn resistant to it. Fact is I’m not cool with instant teleportation that would no doubt hurt newbies. I’m not cool with putting my life in the hands of some old guy that I just met like two days ago. Weird sensing ability or not. I skirt away, ignoring Gandalf’s narrowed gaze at my blatant disdain. “You got your apparition and I got the earth, so I’ma catch my own ride.” I salute the wizard as his body begins to be wrapped in a bright white light. I waste no time in creating a tunnel big enough for me with a hard stomp of my foot. I glance at Gandalf, and almost burn my retinas from his little light show, and jump down into the tunnel to escape being blinded. As soon as my boots touch down I push off the earth like a speed boost. I don’t mind the dark as I speed forward like a bullet, rushing to the mountain until I’m close enough to pinpoint Thorin’s signature stance. 

I rush through the earth only slowing down when I reach the cluster where the dwarves are, surrounded by the enemy. I silently open up a tunnel towards the surface and almost fall back from the stench of Goblin City as it drifts down. Holy fuck, if these goblins looked as bad as they smelled I could live without seeing them BUT fucking Oakenshield is there. I raise the ground I’m standing on, inching closer without drawing attention to me, and hear someone, or something, talking mighty smugly to Thorin. 

“So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” A sound of steel ringing against earth, and a deep gasp of fear cuts the person’s smug sneering. “I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks! Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all! Cut off his head!”

That’s my cue to make my dramatic entrance and make sure my mission stays alive. I jump up out of the tunnel, shrieks echoing around at my sudden appearance, and run to the front where I can see the defiant tilt of Oakenshield’s head. That’s not the only thing I see, unfortunately. The smug speaker, with the cultured voice, is a big fat ugly fucker who has jowls atop of jowls and boils on his pale leathery skin. I push down the urge to dry heave, the smell and image a bit too much, but I’m a professional. No vomiting during a rescue mission. I don’t waste time in acknowledging my mission, or his motley crew of dwarves, as I walk past him. Instead I flex my hands and pull up rock spears, but just as I spend them to the fat fucker a burst of intense light blinds us all. I close my eyes tightly as I flinch away from the burning light, cursing the wizard and his magic silently. Feeling the light die down I peek through my lashes and see Gandalf standing before us. The Gray Wizard stands tall and proud as his staff shines brightly with his power. Gandalf expertly pulls out his sword, the steel ringing out aggressively, while still holding his staff and I witness the fat fuck shrink back in horror. 

The fat goblin is wearing what looks to be a crown made of bones that wobbles at his hard flinch. “He wields the Foe-Hammer! The Beater! Bright as daylight!”

Gandalf rushes forward, yelling at the dwarves to pick up their weapons and fight. There’s a bellowing of war cries, cries that I don’t take part of as I pin my attentions to Thorin. I can see the dwarf king scoop his sword up, the blade bright and no doubt deadly, and stride forward with the promise of death in his eyes. I focus on him and send my spears left and right, the pained shrieks and cries from goblins fading into the background as I impale them. I have half a mind to just collapse the mountain on the goblins, wipe Goblin City off the map, but I’m not a hundred percent sure that we would all survive that; and I have a feeling that Thorin would try and kill me if my bringing down the mountain kills anyone of his people. Oh well, I settle for pulling up as many rock spears that I can and go to work. I cover Thorin’s back, the company making headway into the mountain, before there’s a loud shrill encompassing war cry. It’s a sound that I’ve never heard before in my life, before and now, and the echoing sound sends a chill up my spine because it’s so inhuman.  I slow down as I follow after the dwarves, who run like they instinctively know where the exit from the mountain is, and look up to where the war cry comes. My steps almost falter as an endless swarm of goblins crawl unnaturally fast down a slope of the mountain, their pale hunched over bodies coming at us from everywhere. 

“Fuck…” I whisper in horror at the terrible sight before I hear Gandalf shouting for us to follow him.  I tear my gaze away, the urge to implode the mountain from within almost irresistible but i restrain myself as Thorin sends me a dark look. I meet his gaze as he makes sure that his people follow him, and swear that he looks at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. I hang back to make sure that the dwarves don’t linger, following the tall grey wizard and killing our way through the mountain. 

Up ahead I can see through the stone that there’s no bridge for us to get to the other side, a huge gap separating us from where I can see the opening that leads out of the mountain. I can feel Gandalf look at me and don’t wait for him to ask. I lift my arm and flex out my hand, creating a stone bridge for us to run across. I crumble it as we go, blocking the goblins behind us from following. My shoulder blades are tight with tension as their terrifying shrieks are amplified within the dark and putrid mountain. The toads were horrible, monsters that beneath all my rage and hate scared the living bejesus out of me. No matter how many I killed, no matter how much my of my hate buried it, the fear lived deep seated in me; but this...this almost tops that. The sounds, the hate and thirst for violence. It’s unlike anything I’ve witnessed. The toads obviously were trying to kill us off for our planet, these goblins wanted to kill us just because they obviously got a thrill out of it. Probably would eat us too. Fucking shit. 

How is this even my life right now? 

I can see the exit, the scent of rot and blood flooding the air causing my stomach to cramp with disgust, when the big boss just drops down in front of us. I skid to a halt, my heart in my throat at his sudden appearance. I barely have time to decide my move when Gandalf’s staff whips the creature in the face, his jowls jiggling disgustingly, and gutting him with the Foe-Hammer. Gandalf nods to himself at the sight of the dying goblin before taking off once more, the rest of us in tow. Daylight is breaking through the opening of the mountain like a beacon of safety. The shrieks of the goblins ram up at the sight of their dead king, spurning us on. We burst through the day, shouts of victory and pants of exhaustion breaking the serene calm of the free open air. I stay back, away from the group but a healthy distance from the mountain opening, and join Gandalf silently as he roll calls.  

The wizard doesn’t have to say it, I know we’re one short. I hadn’t even noticed until now that we weren’t running for our lives. My mission’s Thorin Oakenshield, not some little hobbit...but I can’t help but feel annoyed that he slipped my notice. I’m supposed to be fucking aware of my goddamn surroundings, if a hobbit can escape my notice then I’m clearly not doing my job right. Nobody gets left behind, the mantra of my training, and here I am with one member short. I’m about to turn to go back into that fucking mountain and hunt that fucking hobbit down until the hatted dwarf, Bofur, asks about him. Thorin, I see, is clenching his jaw tight with anger and scorn. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Thorin opposes the hobbits involvement with his sacred journey. I heard all about why he was even here from Gandalf, it’s worth a shot if this dragon has never smelled a hobbit before. 

I close my eyes, partly to sense where Bilbo was and partly because the sun’s effing bright, and feel his small hurried steps rushing towards us. Well well well, color me fucking surprised. That little hobbit’s alive. How in the fuck did he manage to get away? I open my eyes and see that everyone’s stilling looking around in confusion. Can’t they see that he’s here? I turn to where he’s standing and see nothing, which is odd because I can  _ feel  _ the hobbit. I frown as I close my eyes, pinpointing his location and open my eyes to where he is. Nothing but air. How is that possible? Unless Bilbo suddenly acquired Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak, how the fuck was the hobbit doing it? Is it a secret power that hobbits had? I stare in his direction, staring with an intense focus that’s the only reason I see the grass sprouts flatten by what can only be a foot. 

I smirk as I raise my hand, aware that the crew behind me isn’t paying attention to me, and start to flex my fingers.  The ground creeps up along his hairy feet to form clamps around his ankles. I make a pulling motion and hear him squeal as I drag him forward. I’m hauling air until the sneaky little hobbit decides to become visible. My smirk grows darker as I stop moving the ground beneath him, “Look what I found.”

Bilbo gives me a pleading look, his cheeks flushed and wide eyes giving the crew a nervous look. Why is he afraid of letting the crew that he was here the whole time? Can it be that the crew doesn’t know that he can turn invisible? I eye the hobbit with suspicion, not liking this, only to see the little man ignoring my look uncomfortably. I don’t say anything yet, but I get the feeling that this is going to bite us in the ass later. Besides the hobbit somehow surviving Goblin City by himself, and showing up creepily invisible and all, there’s something about the hobbit that’s different. I   _ feel _ something almost wrong about him. This time it isn’t my distaste at anything not from Earth, but something else. The feeling, it’s like a lingering stench of death that’s surrounding the little hobbit. I can feel Gandalf’s eyes on me and Bilbo, a feeling of confusion to the wizard as like me, tries to see what the hell’s getting my hackles up. The hobbit looks no worse of wear, and he’s no threat to me, so then why don’t I want to give my back to him?  I don’t say anything, not having a smidge of evidence to confront him about this odd feeling, but I’m not going to ignore my instincts. I’ll keep watch on the hobbit, make sure he stays an unassuming little guy throughout the length of my mission. I keep him within my sights as he walks ahead and closer to the dwarves. I chance a glance at the wizard and see him giving Bilbo a cold measuring look before it’s masterfully hidden under the visage of a tired old man.

Sneaky, sneaky.  

“I thought we had lost our burglar. “ Dwalin says as he eyes the hobbit up and down.  

“He's been lost ever since he left his home. He should not have come; he has no place among us.” Thorin shoots back with attitude. 

“How did you escape the goblins” Bofur asks quickly, trying to change the subject. 

I see Bilbo tense up, can  _ feel _ him tense up, at the question before the wizard interrupts smoothly. 

“Well, why does it matter? He's back!”  Gandalf says with a grin. 

  
“It matters. I want to know - why did you come back?” Thorin asks the hobbit. Thorin’s staring at Bilbo, eyes cold and sharp like a sword. The dwarf king isn’t going to let this go, he reminds me of a dog with a bone stubborn and unrelenting.     
  


I glance at Bilbo and see his hurt and hunted expression harden. “Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right... I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that's where I belong, that's home. That's why I came back...'cause you don't have one, a home.” Bilbo looks at Thorin with a stern expression as he speaks, dealing out truth like a boss. It almost makes me want to trust him, almost. Bilbo continues with a fierce expression,  “It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”

Although the little hobbit has my instincts screaming to not let him out of my sight, I have to admit that that was an amazing answer. That it’s the truth just makes the little hobbit that much endearing, which is why it’s baffling me why I don’t want him at my back. 

The moment, so poignant with honest emotion and declarations of loyalty, is broken by a loud familiar howl. 

“Out of the frying pan…” Thorin begins with a weary expression to the wizard.

“And into the fire…run!” Gandalf ends as he takes off at a sprint. 

You know what I was noticing? The old man can fucking move when he wants to.

I run after them, taking up the rear guard. I throw up earth walls to give us time as we run through the woods but I can see that we’re fucked. The stretch of land ends, if we keep going we’d be falling off the mountain. The plan was to take the path down the mountain, but that would be suicide now. The wargs would ambush and slaughter us if we take that road. I can try to make a rough stairway from the cliff slide, but just as quickly I see Gandalf yelling out to us to climb trees. I slow to a stop and flat out refuse. I’m a mutant soldier who works with the earth, the fuck am I going to do in a tree? 

“Get up here!” Kíli hisses at me as he straddles a branch. 

“I fight with the earth, how is being in a tree going to help me with that?” I hiss back as I feel the vibrations of the enemy coming closer. 

“You’ll be overrun, get up here Constance.” Thorin calls out to me in a hard commanding tone. 

I shake my head. “I’m the ground force, you fight from up there if you want, but I’m more useful down here.” As if making my point, a large warg comes rushing over the crest but it's victory’s short lived as I send a vicious spear through its neck twisting the rock spear to impale its rider. I don’t want to toot my own horn, no wait that’s a lie I do wanna toot it, but I’m deadly when I fight in one spot. I’m able to cause devastation when I’m not running about like a headless chicken. That’s why so few toads invaded my region. I take up a position and hold it until the last toad dies. Taking a calming breath I feel the footfalls of the wargs and move my hands, handing out fatal blows like candy. 

I had killed the majority of the herd before they got the bright idea to run faster and in a zigzag formation. I widen my stance, my third eye seeing the image of the enemy in 3D, and flex my arms, sending small shockwaves to trip them up and spear them. I’m so focused on manipulating the earth, seeing through the earth, that I almost get an arrow to the face if it weren’t for Kíli deflecting it with his own arrow. I flinch as the arrow breaks in half inches from my face, the sound of the air screaming with the speed of the weapon causing me to open my eyes. I stare at the broken arrows and remember that I also might have the bad habit of not noticing aerial attacks. That’s why I was always paired up with either Giles, Marcus or Lanus. They always handled the aerial attacks while I was in the zone. 

“Get up here!” That’s Dwalin’s gruff voice sounding like a lion’s roar, screaming at me to haul my ass up the tree.

I withhold a wince at the fierceness of it and turn to run. I can’t argue my way to staying down here, not with my near brush with death via arrow. I need to think up of a way to deal with an arrow attack. I don’t have my team here to concentrate on air attacks, and Kíli would run out of arrows sooner or later. At least I managed to cut down the pack to a manageable number. I kick off on a rock and grab a tree branch. I hear a sinister growling rushing at me and hurriedly haul my ass up, the branch groaning dangerously at my weight. For a second I have the image of it breaking and dropping my ass to the ground. I clench my jaw in determination and swing myself from tree branch to tree branch, just barely missing having my leg chewed off.

I don’t like being in trees. You could say me and trees have a problem with each other. It takes my earth sight away, leaving me only with my eyes to help. I’m used to having a three hundred and sixty view, and now I’m reduced with a pathetic one hundred and eighty. Not to mention I’m weapon less.  

“Constance grab my hand!” Fíli shouts somewhat shrilly as he watches my movements, branches creaking ominously at my weight. 

I grasp his warm hand and feel his strong muscles yank me up to where he’s crouching. The branch makes a sound, our combined weight a gamble at this point. I shrug the concern off and look calmly out to the approaching weakened pack. “So…what are we going to do now?” 

The wargs have started ripping off the branches as they jumped up at us before working on knocking down the trees. The trees creak before tilting over, forcing us to jump from tree to tree until we’re all in one tree. Very smart, herding us in one location. These orcs are more dangerous than I thought. I can’t help but feel like a sitting duck, here in a tree. I ache with the urge to jump down and crush them all with stone. A bright flare of light from the corner of my eye catches my attention. The flare breaks through the darkening skies as the sun sets, and I see Gandalf has lit a pine acorn on fire. I watch as he passes it around, the dwarves grabbing the flaming pine acorn and lighting their owns. Fíli pushes a lit up acorn in my hand, and soon we all have pine acorn firebombs. I grin at the absurdity of it all as we begin hurling them at the orcs and wargs below. 

Kíli’s throwing arrows until he freezes as if someone had thrown a Petrificus Totalus at him. I follow his line of sight and can’t help but tense. A white warg comes staking forward with deadly grace, its features fierce as it carries a large menacing looking white orc. The warg comes forward, parting through the few remaining wargs that I had left alive without pause. I feel a cold breeze pass across my face and with it the whispers of warnings. I know who this orc is. I know it through the whispers that the winds bring before hearing Thorin gasp and mutter in disbelief. 

The pale orc begins to say something in a hideous grating language that offends me in such a deep level, pointing at us with an unbelievingly cruel grin. I have my fists clenched and eyes narrowed with rage the second he opens his disgusting mouth. I don’t understand his awful language, but I get the gist of what he’s saying anyway.

So this is the creature that Tulkas was talking about. Azog, the beginning of a dark age and hell-bent on killing Thorin Oakenshield. His skin was a powder white, and even from where I was positioned I could see the severe scarification on his pointed cruel face. His scars were seemingly everywhere, on his broad shoulders and toned torso. He was smirking, showcasing his pointed teeth, as he sat astride his equally powder white warg. 

The dwarves kept on throwing the acorn firebombs, even with the arrival of the literal nemesis of the Line of Durin, heedless that soon we had a fucking forest fire going on. Trees fell, by joint efforts of the wargs knocking them down and by fire, and blocked us off in a ring of fire. It wasn’t a good position to be in, this was a kill zone; blocked off by the enemy on all sides. I needed to get down, buy some time for Gandalf to try and teleport the dwarves and Bilbo out of here. For the moment though, all I can do is watch the enemy. I don’t think he’s caught notice of me and my armor. That’s good, gives me time to catch the enemy unaware. I’m measuring just how far high I am in order to jump down when horrified shouts draw my focus away. I look to see the brothers looking below with wide fear filled eyes.

I get a bad feeling and sure enough who is it that I see? 

Thorin fucking Oakenshield swaggering down a burning log, drawing his sword and oak shield with a demented look on his face, how the hell did he even get down there so fast? “Fucking shit.” I curse, having no choice but to drop down after the crazy fuck. I bend my knees and take a second to get used to having back my three-sixty sight flooding my brain before taking off after the mad dwarf. I’m not going to let him get himself killed, not on my damn watch, as he strides towards vengeance. I raise my hand to trap him when he turns, movement sharp and deadly, and gives me a look filled with rage. 

“Don’t.” 

Just one word. With just one word the dwarf king has me freezing, hand raised like a fool. I don’t dare blink, the heat of fire around us and smoke creating an almost mystical atmosphere. Thorin’s near electric blue eyes seem to glow as he glares at me, their depths gleaming with rage, hate and ultimate resolve. I have never in my life met anyone like him, someone so thoroughly determined to one goal that nothing will stand in his way. It’s different than how everyone back on Earth looked. I don’t know how to explain it. I mean we didn’t lack motivation to kill the enemy, but I guess the only way I can describe it is that the toads weren’t taking the mission to kill us  _ personally _ . They were killing us, but it felt detached. Like we were just faceless beings that were taking up space on a planet that they wanted. What’s between Azog and Thorin is more than that. They know each other and hate each other with all their being. There’s an obsession almost, with each other. That kind of thing creates an atmosphere, a tension that burns darkly. 

Thorin’s a dwarf on a mission, and I can see that he won’t hesitate to knock me on my ass if I interfere. There’s no other choice but to obey, that word filled to near bursting seams with royal command. I drop my hand, ignoring the shouts behind us, and instead follow with a stone strong resolve of my own. “I won’t stop you, but I’ll make sure that you live. You have your mission, and I have mine.” 

Thorin nods severely, his eyes flashing brightly with a mad gleam before he turns with a snarl and a mighty war cry; flames dancing in the background like something out of a damn action movie. I watch as he rushes forward, sword held high and shield up, and see why the dwarves follow him. Thorin’s meant to be a king. He’s brave and willing to lay down his life for his people. I begin to understand why the Line of Durin is too precious to be lost. This planet is gonna need this brand of warrior in the upcoming war.  

I stare at him like an idiot but I put my game face on and step after him, pulling up spears to deal with the wargs and orcs that get too close for comfort to Thorin. A fierce shout behind me, Dwalin, and I see when the dwarves drop down from the tree to follow us. Before I know it, we’re launching our counterattack. There’s blood in the air, the sharp chime of steel meeting steel and death cries. My attention’s half on Thorin and half on my own fight, the feeling of this reminding me of Earth.  

I’m twisting a spear, pushing it to cut through the air and impale an orc who’s trying to sneak up on Glóin, when a shout cuts through the sound of battle. I don’t have to turn around to see that Thorin’s on his back, struggling to reach Orcrist. I shift my foot and send a wave to push the sword into his hand. In the same movement I shift my other foot, pushing the pale warg away that’s stalking closer to the exiled king.  I keep up a barrage of movement, shifting the enemy to better positions for the company to kill, when a warg disappears from my sight. I curse and look up, trying to find it. I barely have time to turn around when I see it leaping through the air, jaw open and it’s orc rider screeching at me with a filthy blade held high. 

No time to fucking move so I brace myself for impact, praying that Tulkas wasn’t lying when he said I was more durable. I close my hands into fists and have time to take one breath before the warg comes crashing into me. Hot and meaty rancid breath fills my senses before registering the pain. The warg’s all muscle and surprisingly soft fur as we go down hard into the ground. The orc gives a shrill cry but soon cut offs and falls sideways, arrow to the head. That leaves me and the sable colored warg rolling around on the ground, a fury of fists and massive paws. I shimmy my way down to its vulnerable soft belly and give my strongest punch, the warg giving out a pained whine as its body tilts to the side and lays curled for a moment. I feel a trickle of warm liquid trailing down my arm and face, blood no doubt, and bare my teeth at the struggling warg. I kick at its head, knocking it out, and turn to see what the hell the situation is. 

Thorin’s on his back about to become warg food, my mission failing before my eyes, before an almost too low war cry comes from the most unlikely source. Bilbo fucking Baggins comes rushing through the fire, jumping over a log to come stand protectively over Thorin. His sword’s glowing a soft blue as the hobbit slashes at the pale warg. 

A smile blooms on my face, stunned at the damn bravery of this small creature, before an all-encompassing screech silences the mountain clearing. I barely hear Ori yelling about eagles, before I slowly turn to the sound of beating wings and gasp. 

Giant ass eagles are flying to us. 

Their massive wings propel them to us in no time, their bodies huge and powerful as they blow flames at the few remaining wargs. I watch fascinated as the enemy’s forced to retreat, my eyes connecting for a brief horror filled second with Azog. His eyes narrow hatefully at me, taking note of my armor before he gives a menacing parody of a smile and leaves. Thorin battled that evil creature and taken its arm? Jesus, what in the hell am I even dealing with? 

I shake my head and focus on the now, seeing Gandalf astride a truly magnificent eagle; an eagle that’s bigger than the rest, feathers lighter and shiner. It’s wings a soft ivory color, the pale feathers mixed in with sable.  Of course the wizard would be allies with giant eagles, of course he would. What was next? Talking bears? Was freaking Aslan going to pop out on this trip?  Fuck.  

I stand and watch as one by one the company’s picked up from the mountain by an eagle. I’m one of last ones to be picked up, along with Thorin, so I get to ride in a claw. The eagles fly smoothly over hundreds of miles of land, eating up the distance to the mountain like a goddamn joke. I lay there within the eagle's claw watching the scenery below, wind cooling my heated skin. I turn to lay my head against the dry smooth claw of the eagle carrying me, and close my eyes. I can feel my adrenaline high dropping, body slumping against the firm hold. 

Soon the eagle’s slowing down and I open my eyes to see the ground come rushing closer before the claws open and I drop down into a crouch. The eagle turns and stares at me, its giant golden eyes taking me in for a moment before flying away. As strange as it was being stared down by a beast many times my size, I felt a sort of warm feeling come over me; as if  the feeling was telling me that the eagles were on my side.  

I dismiss that thought as I stand from my crouch and make way to where the company’s huddled around the fallen figure of the king.  I reach the outer rim, and have no problem seeing over their heads to see Gandalf work his magic, muttering that strange ancient language as his staff glows. Soon Thorin jolts up as he takes a deep rasping breath before being hauled up by Balin and Dwalin. Kíli and Fíli go rushing to Thorin, their arms wrapping around him almost desperately before the rest of the dwarves go to assure themselves that the king is well. I keep my distance, watching from the sidelines. Happy that my mission’s okay before I see Thorin catch sight of Bilbo. The look on Thorin’s face is weird, like a spasm. The small hobbit must also notice since he makes his body smaller, almost hiding behind Gandalf’s robes with a grimace. 

I watch as Thorin stalks forward to the hobbit, ready to pull them apart if he raises a hand to the hobbit. Even though I don’t want to the hobbit at my back, it doesn’t mean that I want him hurt. The hobbit had proved himself willing to lay down his life for this journey.  

“You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden, that you would not survive in the wild and that you have no place amongst us?” Thorin shouts to the hobbit as he comes to a halt, mere feet away from Bilbo. The king stares the hobbit down, Bilbo looking like he’s going to puke all over Thorin’s boots, as the rest of us watch the scene with awkwardness. Thorin’s face does that weird twitching, as if it’s trying to resist expressing emotion, “I've never been so wrong in all my life.” Thorin ends up saying with a great big exhale. The king pulls the shocked hobbit in his arms. the hug fierce and manly. Bilbo looks about as stunned as the rest of us, giving Thorin a pat on the back and pulling away with a sheepish grin. “And I am sorry for doubting you.” Thorin says to the hobbit with a solemn look. 

“No, it's fine. I would have doubted me too. I'm not a hero or a warrior...” Bilbo trails off as he looks up at Gandalf, “... Not even a burglar.”

Knowing that there isn’t a fight breaking out I look away from the bromance moment and see a lone mountain in the distance. It’s tall, strong and surrounded by a large forest.  It looks amazing, rising above into the skies. Almost like it’s giving the world a giant  _ fuck you  _ as it tears into the sky. 

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Thorin asks me in a near rumbling whisper as he comes to my side. 

“It is.” I breath out, unable to look away from the peaceful visage. 

“That’s what we’re fighting for. The Lonely Mountain, Erebor.” Thorin says in an awed whisper. “My home.” He adds as an afterthought, voice laced with pain.  

I glance at him, feeling a kinship with him about lost homes, before looking back to the mountain. “We still got a long way to go.”

“You're right we do, but I do believe the worst is behind us now.” Bilbo says as he comes close to us, looking at the mountain in awe.


	3. Like a fish out of water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever been inside a barrel, where space is a laughable imaginable concept, and suddenly its starts rolling about and dropping into what feels like a black hole? Yeah not so much fun, it’s terrifying actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reads and kudos!
> 
> Enjoy.

**Like a fish out of water**

 

“Hurry up you fools!” Gandalf yells out at us.

I huff as I run, trying to control my breathing, but damn it’s hard; being chased by a giant fucking bear tends to do that to you.

Reaching the top of a steep hill I see the house that Gandalf had told us about. It’s blended into the thick forest that sits behind it, moss and vines crawling up the houses’ stone walls. My appreciation for the homes excellent camouflage is cut short when a powerful roar of the bear rings out, so close that I put on a burst of speed just barely pulling ahead of Bombur and Gandalf. I skid to a stop, my shoulder slamming into the wooden door and denting it with the impact as the rest of the company arrive a second after. Gandalf’s rushing us to open the door, the dwarves taking it upon themselves to open it themselves when through the earth I see the huge beast break through the forest. I turn and see the black as night bear race towards us, its massive jaw open wide to roar out. Deciding that the dwarves are taking too long, I push Ori out of the way, “Dori come over here!” I shout as I put my shoulder under the heavy wooden bar that works as a lock. The elegant silver haired dwarf comes to stand at my back, Dwalin and the Durin brothers following suit. As one we push up with our legs and have the bar up. We open the doors finally and I barely manage to jump to the side to avoid being trampled by dwarves. 

“What is that?” Thorin asks as the behemoth of a bear comes closer and closer. The king stays by the door until everyone is safely inside.

“That is our host!” Gandalf answers as he looks back to gage the distance between the bear and us.

I can’t even. How is that our host?

We had been walking calmly, losing our tail of orcs at the moment, when Gandalf had frozen in place and looked out into the distance with a frown. I had checked ahead to see what had the old man tense but had seen nothing but animal life, how was I supposed to know that I had to be on the lookout for a killer bear. Gandalf must have used his magic powers because even though the forest was serene, with the light chirpings of birds and chittering of squirrels, the wizard had turned to us with an ashen face and told us to run. What happened next was running through the forest, leaping over logs and the cracking of branches being stepped on, in silence until a mighty roar near damn shook the very ground we were on. That had lit a fire under our ass. I had wanted to stop and fight but Gandalf wouldn’t hear it, now I know why. The killer bear somehow was tied to this house. Thorin and Gandalf rush inside, after Bilbo runs in with his tiny legs pumping fast, and slam the door closed. We hear the bar slam down and lock the door again, breathing a sigh of relief at having refuge from the bear that had picked up our scent a couple miles after we had entered the forest.

Our relief’s cut short when the heavy wooden door rattles when the bear knocks against it, the hinges squeaking terribly, followed by a low sinister growl that seems to shake my very bones by the force of it. The door creaks again as the bear tries to nudge it open and unspoken we all rush to brace our weight against the door. Luckily our furry host decides it has better things to do and leaves us be after that.

I slump to the ground breathing hard, legs twitching with exertion and blood feeling too hot. It seems so long ago since we were in a safe place like now. Not since Rivendell.

Months after the fight on the mountain with Azog, we have been dodging the relentless attacks of wargs and orcs. They never let up a damn second, every step we took was spent sensing them following us; I sent quakes, created ravines after us, fatal spears and they still came at us. They hunted us ruthlessly. It’s exhausting. I can sense them now, miles and miles away stationary as the fearsome bear patrols of his territory; seems like the orcs don’t want to mess with this creature either, thank God.

Gathering my strength I stand and make my way to a nice large patch of hay, ignoring the cows and the bees of massive proportions, and throw myself on it. I grunt when someone says my name, nudging my foot and telling me to get up. Yeah, fuck that there’s no way that I’m getting up. I’ll take last watch, but right now I’m going to sleep and fuck if I care if they get mad. They don’t know that the last time I slept was a week ago. They also don’t know what I’m working on now, a way to push my limits, my own brand of training.

I’ve been layering my body with stone. I figured if Gaara can do it, then I can too. The theory was solid…kinda of…considering my mutation. I’m in Middle-Earth, anything’s possible when there are wizards, elves, and craziness everywhere. So far I’ve been successful in keeping the layer of thick earth on my body, under my clothes since my mutation doesn’t stretch out to camouflage the ground to a replica of my uniform. I haven’t tried it out yet against swords and arrows, I have to get accustomed to the weight first and not let it affect my mobility. Other than that there’s a genuine worry that I might need something stronger than stone.

Iron.

I know that iron comes from the earth, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pull it out of the earth. I’m not that confidant to try when we’re on the run from orcs, not to mention the deadline to get to the mountain before Durin’s day hanging over Thorin’s head like a dark cloud. It’s too risky, but this place must have infected me with its lunacy since I try anyway. Only a little but anyway, I mostly just feel the earth, testing its different components. I sucked at it, but practice makes perfect. So far I have to make do with compacted stone. Pulling up the earth, compacting it tightly to layer over my skin and keep it there while focusing on the mission was backbreaking. If I could I’d fall asleep standing up, but thankfully we’re here in this cottage. I let the soft sounds of the company lull me to sleep, sensing faintly that Fíli drapes a blanket over me before caressing my face gently.

I wake up later in the evening with Dwalin yanking me up by the arm before jumping back. An effective way to dodge my fists; Dwalin learned after the first time of waking me up and getting my fist as a warm hello. Thirteen years of war created violent reactions when unawares. I yawn widely, jaw cracking as I look around me. Everyone’s sleeping but Dwalin and me, who’s sharing my turn to keep watch. I take off the blanket with lazy movements, feeling too warm and sluggish from knocking out earlier. I get up from the hay, knees and hips cracking from being in one position for too long, and recognize Fíli sleeping close to me. I stare at him for a moment blankly before slowly draping his blanket over him.

It’s odd, my aversion to anyone, or anything, not from Earth has been slowly receding at least when it concerns my crew. I don’t longer automatically stiffen up when a dwarf comes too close, or when Gandalf does his freaky magic or when Bilbo props up his hairy feet. But what’s even odder is that since that time in Rivendell, Fíli’s gradually become a great friend to me. And trust when I say that development didn’t happen ‘cause of me. Fíli had persistently nagged me into conversation, into walking together, into sharing meals and taking turns on watch together. The dwarf had worn me down until I had literally no choice but to accept his friendship. I now know why Gandalf had been so frazzled with Thorin; dwarves could be so fucking stubborn. It’s like they don’t understand the meaning of impossible. Not only did Fíli hound me into a friendship, we also bonded after months of keeping Thorin alive and making sure Kíli stayed out of trouble. It’s nice having a friend.

At times it almost feels like Fíli’s flirting with me specifically, but then that’s ridiculous because I’ve seen Fíli work his charm with traveling merchants. He’d smile that slow almost sensual smile, deep blue eyes gleaming with mischief and join Balin in negotiating prices. Besides, it’d be hella weird having any type of romance on this journey, I barely find the time and privacy for myself; when the fuck would I even find the time to do any hanky-panky surrounded by dwarves, a hobbit and a meddling wizard? Just the thought of an imaginary Thorin finding out about my imaginary illicit affair with his nephew has me wanting to fall through the ground and disappear. Shuddering at the image, I focus on Fíli and can’t help but grin. The golden haired dwarf’s an adorable sight, laid out on the hay with his limbs sprawled out and mouth slightly ajar. I think I can even see drool drying a trail from the corner of his mouth and onto his jaw.  

I give into the temptation that I’ve had since after the Goblin City debacle. I hunch over Fíli, keeping my eyes sweeping over the sleeping forms of the company, and slowly reach out to push his hair away from his face. Holy fuck, it’s just as I imagined, his hair’s so soft...how in the fuck does he have such soft hair in the wilderness? I hear Dwalin settle down behind me snatch my hand away before he sees me.

Hair is a very big deal to dwarves, like a _BIG DEAL_. I had found out that little tidbit when I was about to ask Fíli to do my hair before Gandalf stopped me, telling me just what that meant and how it could be interpreted. Needless to say my hair since Rivendell looks like it has a life of its own, curls all over the place like it’s trying its damn best to transform me into Middle-Earth’s Medusa. I’m sure that it’s only a matter of time before my hair knots up and I’d be reduced to cut it.

So after making sure to make another paranoid sweep to make sure no one saw me touching the heir to the throne’s hair, I move to where Dwalin has taken up post. The gruff tattooed dwarf sits with his back against the stall of a cow, looking over the forms of our sleeping companions protectively. Fíli had nagged me to the point that he became my friend, Dwalin on the other hand had strong armed me to the point where he was fast becoming my best friend. The tattooed dwarf had taken to cornering me whenever Fíli had left me alone, asking a million and one questions about my mutation; about how my worlds warfare was different from his, did I have any close combat skills, when learning that I didn’t dragging me out of the way and drilling me into stances. Dwalin, when he wasn’t yelling at me to ‘keep your stance firm and for Mahal’s sake keep your hands up’, was the only one besides Thorin and Balin to actually understand the way I am. A fierce and proud warrior, Dwalin knew that sometimes being noble wasn’t going to win the war. The others were brave and I came to trust them to have my back and get shit done, but not like Dwalin. He’s a kindred spirit. I find myself telling him about my old life, how the war started, how I came to have my powers. I think that one other main reason why I feel so comfortable with him, besides our bloody war torn past, is that he would sit there listening to every word as he sharpened his blades quietly. He’d never interrupt, never make any judging noises and when he wanted to say something he’d go straight to the point.  

That’s why I don’t get all defensive when Dwalin asks me what’s going with Fíli and me. “What do you mean?”

Dwalin just gives me an unimpressed look as he goes back to sharpening his axes.

I think on his question, stretching the sleep from my limbs and letting the stone armor that I had on throughout the week fall out in a slow subtle movement. I grunt softly with joy as my muscles are relieved of the heavy weight, cracking my neck to release built up tension. The tattooed dwarf’s asking me a lot in that one question, so much so that no wonder he’s asking me when everyone’s asleep; topic sensitive as fuck considering who Fíli is. Dwalin’s asking me what I feel for Fíli, what I think Fíli feels for me, have we done anything, do I want anything to happen, and what I’d do if anything were to happen. “Nothing is going on.” I finally say after a long stretch of silence. I’m just the protection detail to royalty. Not exactly acceptable in these primeval times, adding to the fact that he’s a dwarf and I’m not. He’d be expected to marry his own kind. Not to mention that the flirty atmosphere that we have is just that. I suspect that Fíli is a flirt by nature, but truly I think we’re **just** friends. Besides, and I stress, _now_ is so not the time to even be thinking about a relationship. 

Dwalin nods and then shakes his head, “That’s not going to stop that boy.”

So Dwalin noticed the flirty manner and how Fíli stuck close to me…does he think that that means that Fíli likes me? I am the only female in the group of course Fíli’d gravitate to me to flirt. I turn to give Dwalin a serious look that turns into an amused smirk, “Dwalin, I think you’re not noticing just how much of a flirt that dwarf is. I’m the only female in God only knows how many miles.” Fíli’s just a cheeky little shit when Dwalin and Thorin are at the front and we’re in the back. If only they knew just what the golden haired dwarf says and asks they’d probably curse with the embarrassment at the conduct of their Crown Prince. _‘Constance, can you tell me about’_ is usually followed by a question not related to any tactical or combative subject.

Dwalin pauses and looks up from his work, his dark stare lighting up with humor as he glances at the drooling looking dwarf. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing, having you become a part the royal bloodline would be a boon.”

I raise my brow, skeptical at that. “Yeah, I can’t see myself as Lady Fíli.” Not that the dwarf isn’t handsome, because he is, but Fíli didn’t do it for me. I mean sure he sometimes gets to be blush and get flustered but, _not in that way._ Not that I would even let that happen while the mission’s still on going, I am a professional after all.

“Thorin is still young.” Dwalin comments shrewdly as he inspects his axes.

Thorin I-will-kill-you-with-my-eyes Oakenshield, marry me and have kids? I snort unladylike and shake my head, “I think I’d be too afraid to even get near him, let alone have sex with him. Besides, how likely is it that he’ll even want to?” I ask, morbidly curious about it now that he brought it up. Thorin’s arresting but he so creepily intense. Oh God, I can just imagine the wedding night! All that intense focus on me, Thorin’s jaw clenched tightly and crowding me ready to get down to business; Jesus Christ I bet that he’d approach sex like it’s a battle.

“You’ve got a point, but,” Dwalin concedes as he begins cleaning his newly sharpened axes, “I think you’re underestimating him as well.”

“Maybe…” I say with a grin, chuckling at the thought of Thorin being romantic. I don’t think I would even survive an encounter with his smolder, and Thorin had that look about him that he can do a great smolder.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Would you?” Dwalin asks with an annoyed huff.

“Who are we talking about, Fíli or Thorin?” I honestly don’t even know who Dwalin is asking about anymore.

Dwalin gives a rusty sounding laugh, “Thorin.”

I look past Fíli and catch sight of the exiled king, resting on a patch of hay. He’s darkly handsome, all tortured soul and vengeance, but could I see myself with him? “No.” I whisper as I turn away from Thorin. “It’d be too weird and intense. I’d feel as if I were fucking my commanding officer, just waiting for him to start barking orders. Can you imagine? _Williamson! My bedroom at o’six hundred!_ ” I lower my voice to a rough grumble and whisper, keeping my eyes on Thorin just in case he wakes up and hears me.

The warrior dwarf‘s looking at me with a contemplating expression before stifling a laugh. He regains his composure and tells me to shut up, that that was his king I was making fun of. “Bitch, I wasn’t the one to broach this subject.” I laugh at his weak glare and shrug, settling back against the stall. We sit there in silence for hours, watching as the darkness of the barn/house brightened with the morning sky. Soon heavy footsteps send ripples to my sight and I see someone coming towards the house. I nudge Dwalin, the warrior hefting up his axe while I hold my hands out ready to attack.

“Do you mean to attack our host?”

How the hell does he always manage to wake up at the right time?

Gandalf’s lounging in a chair, his staff held firmly in his grasp as a smile stretches out on his face. Dwalin and I relax our stances and watch how the door’s opened easily by the tallest wild looking man that I’ve ever seen. It takes a few seconds to connect the dots. Gandalf said he was our host, the same thing he said about the bear that was chasing us down, does that mean that the bear and this guy are the same? For that to be true, the tall man would have to be a shape shifter. Like an animagus but not?

This wild man’s easily over six feet, unruly black hair streaked with grey on the sides. His eyes are sharp honey gold and he’s built like a fucking tank. Curiously enough his wrists are decorated with iron shackles.

“Gandalf, it’s been a long time.”

“Beorn how are you my friend?” Gandalf greets as he stands to give the tall man a hug.

Of course they’re both on first name basis. The old wizard seems to know everyone and their mother. I swear the geezer’s a busybody, always up in everyone’s business. I turn away and ignore them since there isn’t any immediate danger. I slouch where I sit next to Dwalin and wave my hand to bring my bag to me. The earth rises slightly moving smoothly to me and when my bag’s in reach I push it back down. I pull out my brush that I had nabbed from my stay at Rivendell and get to work on today’s latest tangles. Once finished I use a leather clasp that Dwalin had given me on the down low not too long ago, face red and stuttering at me to do something with my rats nest, and tied my hair up in a ponytail. Beorn and Gandalf are speaking in low tones when the crew starts to wake up. Beorn noticing that brings out a jug of milk and we have breakfast.

It isn’t long before Beorn tells us about how he’s protected these lands against orcs and goblins for a long while, and how he had scented a large group following us and what the hell was our plan. I sit there drinking my milk, which is quite delicious really, and eating eggs while Thorin and Gandalf explain the whole quest deal. I let them hash out the details, soaking up as much peaceful rest as I can before we set out again. And a good thing too, because it isn’t long before Beorn lets us borrow some of his horses and ponies to help us get to the Greenwood.

“Greenwood?” I ask as Beorn leaves us at the edge of his property line, lumbering back to his cottage to tend to his little farm. I’m standing next to a horse that I have no intention of riding when that name’s significance goes off like a bomb through my mind. “Are you fucking kidding me!” I shout shrilly, causing my horse to dance nervously next to me.

Gandalf, Bilbo, Thorin, and Dori give me disapproving looks. I roll my eyes at them. It wasn’t long into our journey that Ori had asked me just what I was saying meant. Apparently my colorful language wasn’t known in Middle-Earth. Once I explained what they meant The Four, how I started calling them, went on to lecture me on how a lady doesn’t speak in that manner, how unseemly it was, how I should always conduct myself in a manner befitting the royal guard, and how I shouldn’t say such things around impressionable young dwarves. I had sent Dori a flat look at that, Ori for his quiet shyness has a mouth on him when his elder brother isn’t around. I call bullshit on Thorin; I mean has he heard Dwalin speak? Bilbo I don’t really say nothing to because he’s like as tall as an eight year old, it just feels weird telling him off, not to mention he’s also one of the most polite people I’ve ever met. Gandalf I have no sympathy over whatsoever, in fact I make it a point to curse as much as possible in the wizards company. The dude was old as dirt he’ll live no matter what comes out my mouth.

“Constance,” The wizard starts, his tone similar to how a mother talks to their child that they’ve constantly told not to write on the walls, “is it truly necessary for you to speak in such an uncouth manner?”

“Fuck yes.” I answer just because I can. “You don’t understand Gandalf what I’m going through right now.” I say as I drag a hand down my face. “Tell me that we’re not walking into the fucking Greenwood forest?”

“Yes we are.” Thorin answers sternly as he looks at me like I’m that creepy relative that chills in dark corners.

“I can’t believe this bullshit.” I whine out as I close my eyes and drag of my hand down my face one more time in annoyance.

“Really Lady Constance, what is the matter now.” Dori huffs out in annoyance as he murmurs to Ori to not write down what I’m saying. Ori just nods but once Dori turns around Ori begins to write furiously.

“What’s the matter is,” I stress as I glare at the silvered haired dwarf, “that is this the same Greenwood that I dropped in on Radagast?”

“Why yes, but further up I believe.” Gandalf answers before he mounts his stead.

I stand there looking bewildered. I just did the world’s longest ass U-turn. If I had known that they were coming this way in the first place I would have stayed with Radagast in the forest and gone with them from there. No use in crying over spilled milk as they say. I take a deep breath and release it slowly, fuck it. Just…fuck it. I shake my head and watch as the company saddles up. Maybe I was meant to go to Rivendell, or some fate bullshit.

“Hurry up and mount Constance.” Thorin says as he gets on his pony.

“Yeah no thanks, I’ll walk.” I answer quickly. I look at the horse and shrug, sorry horse but I like my feet on the ground.

“Oh how delightful, I’ll keep you company!” Bilbo cries out happily as he begins to dismount.

“No one is walking.” Thorin commands with steel in his voice and fire in his eyes. “Constance get on the horse.”

“No can do.” I almost want to grin at him, because I can see from hear that he wants to curse me the fuck out but being the _king_ and all he’s gotta act with decorum.

“Why?” Thorin practically growls through clenched teeth.

“I’ve never ridden a horse. I’m not about to get on one now and possibly kill myself in the process.” I say smartly as I look at the horse. It had begun to graze and gave me an unimpressed look when it felt my stare. Now that I think about it, could the horse even handle my weight? I look back at Thorin and see him shaking his head as he looks to the sky. Poor Thorin but there’s no way that I’m going to get on the horse.

“Fine, then ride with Gandalf.” Thorin said in the end.

I glance at Gandalf, being that he’s the only one with a horse that could carry us both, and see him shake his head.

“I cannot carry her with me.” The wizard says as he dodges the reasons why.

“She can ride me!” Ori shouts excitedly before blushing, “I mean ride with me…sorry.”

I see Dori give his little brother a hard look, while Dwalin snorts in laughter. Fíli just glares at the younger dwarf, causing Ori to blush harder before sending him a good-natured smirk and a wink when Dori isnt looking.

“Sorry buddy,” I tell the red faced dwarf, “but you and me on that pony spells disaster.” I stand there, watching as Thorin tries to breathe through his irritation, when an idea starts building in my mind. I barely keep my attention on Thorin as he asks Gandalf why I can’t ride with him as my mind races. I study the ground beneath me and test it out. Feeling the earth rise I grin smugly, “I’ve got the situation handled, we can move out.”

Thorin gives me a look that conveys he’s an inch from killing someone. I just salute him in return and look away; they say you’re not supposed to look at wild animals in the eyes or else they’ll try to eat your face.

I take off all the supplies from the horse and shoo it away from me, the horse doesn’t waste any time moseying back to Beorn’s house. Once I have all my supplies at my feet I lift my hands up to get a nice flat platform. I push off and keep my senses sharp, always checking the perimeter for any danger, as I pass the company. I hear the horses behind me and slow down, because even though I’m the scout I don’t know where the fuck I’m going exactly.

Gandalf takes the lead, and we ride in silence which is nice. There isnt any immediate danger and the orc pack is miles behind us, not close enough to be a threat. I wonder if they’re smart enough to guess that I have my ‘eyes’ on them all the time. I really need to get more information on the enemy, besides the whole evil scumbags’ requirement that they have and the need to be eradicated from Middle-Earth. Regardless, it isnt wise to underestimate your enemy; I legit died when I underestimated an enemy. I feel Gandalf’s horse slow to a trot and I ease up on my own velocity as we reach the entrance to the Greenwood or, as Thorin corrects me with glee, Mirkwood.

The entrance to the forest looks grey and haunted. There’s a fountain that is bone dry in the center, as the focal point, the stone crumbling as roots wrap around it in a tight vise. Withered old branches twisting into themselves and growing wildly, their bark ashen and dead; this place practically screams out murder town. I can imagine guys with masks and chainsaws creeping about inside, creepy. That’s just the appearance of it; the whole vibe of it has my spidey senses blaring with how much wrong there is in it. It feels like an oncoming migraine, a low pulse throbbing at the base of my skull slowly gaining momentum that makes my eyes sting and nose burn. It feels like an infection, like I’m getting sick and that can’t be good at all. I felt that in the Greenwood where Radagast made his home, but not at this level. I feel uneasy looking at it but nevertheless I lower my platform and catch my breath.

Shit, that was exhausting. I grin proudly at my improvement, with my old team I had support and didn’t have to go all out with my powers; but being here changed that. I don’t have another mutant to have my back, it’s either sink or swim and I’ll be damned if I sink.

Gathering my breath I notice Gandalf talking to Thorin and the rest, warning us not to leave the safety of the road. Was the wizard not coming? I hear him say that he has to check out something, may be nothing but it’d be remiss of him not to make sure that it is nothing. What’s so important that the wizard’s ready to go gallivanting off gods know where, and with leaving us with no Intel on his side mission? That’s how complications start, how missions fail when the team is left out to dry with their dicks in their hands. I don’t like it. He can sure as fuck go fuck off to wherever the fuck he’s going, but not before telling me where. The wizard expects us to go through the Forest of Death without him and has the audacity to tell us to wait for him before going into Erebor. No dice. I scowl as I step closer to him, not letting him steer the horse away.

“Gandalf, I don’t think I need to press the importance of this mission…not to you.” I say as I stare up to the wizard who’s starting to look shifty. “You started this mission, why are you leaving it especially now? I know you can feel the wrongness of that forest; it’s not natural which only leaves one conclusion…magic. Dark magic is tainting this place, and you, our _wizard,_ decide to leave us?” I ask in a low sharp tone, making sure that the dwarves don’t overhear me, but I can feel the burning gaze of the exiled king on me. I hurry on, keeping an eye on Thorin’s still form. “What in the fuck is more important than this?” Gandalf stares at me and I can see that he’s trying to find a way to bullshit me, and you know I am not in the mood. I raise the ground until I’m eye level with the wizard, and lean in. “ _Don’t_. This is my mission that you’re fucking with; I told you didn’t I, that if you got in the way of my mission…that if you betrayed me you would regret it. So lemme ask you again,” I whisper as I invade the wizard’s space, feeling the tension in the air, “what is making our wizard leave us to the mercy of a fucking cursed forest?”

“…Dol Guldur.” Gandalf breathes out with reluctance. If I didn’t know any better I would say that Gandalf’s close to sulking; pretty sure there isnt anyone on Middle-Earth that would press him to explain himself, other than Galadriel.

I feel a cold shock run through me, “Why would you go there?”

“Because you were right, back in Rivendell, about keeping an eye on that fortress. Lady Galadriel took your warning to heart; she contacted me and has asked me to investigate. There is something more at work here, I need to go and see what it is. Radagast will meet me there, but Constance even you can understand why this threat shouldn’t be left aside.” Gandalf lowers his warm hand on my shoulder and squeezes, “I have faith that you will lead them safely to the mountain.”

I breathe out slowly and nod, leaning out of his personal space, “Alright. Watch your back there Gandalf, that place is evil.”

Gandalf nods and takes hold of his reins and urges his horse into a gallop. I watch as his crests a hill and can’t help but feel my stomach cramp at the sudden bad feeling. Dol Guldur _is_ a threat that can’t be pushed aside, there was something there… _hiding_ …and Gandalf was riding straight to it. I can’t help but feel as if this going to suck ass big time.  

“We’re losing daylight here.” Dwalin yells out as he cracks his knuckles in irritation.

I huff out a dry chuckle as lower my platform and pick up the supplies. “I hear you.”

I know that Thorin wants to ask me what Gandalf and I were talking about, but I pretend that I don’t see him trying to catch my eye. Eventually the exiled king scowls at me before heading to the front of the pack. Thorin doesn’t need to concern himself with Dol Guldur, all he needs to do is complete his mission on taking back Erebor from the dragon and stay alive. I crack my neck to release some tension and make my way to the front. With the wizard gone I’m the closest thing to magic this crew’s got. With me in the vanguard and Dwalin as the rearguard we enter the forest. Crossing the entrance the very air drops several degrees, the dark foul magic tainting this place shutting out the warmth of the sun. I pull my coat around me tighter, managed to snatch it off some unsuspecting merchant when we crossed close to a small village much to the disapproval of Bilbo, the heavy fabric hiding my glowing armor. Thank fuck, the armor was like a homing beacon, signaling any baddies in here our location. The deeper we walk through this forest the stronger that sickness of this place clashes against my senses.

The path is old, the stone pathway cracked and strewn with dead leaves. The dry leaves break with a too loud creaks, causing the youngest of our team to flinch in paranoia. The trees start to grow even more twisted and dark, crowding the path to a point of near claustrophobia. I endure, swallowing down a wave of dizziness and nausea. I find myself constantly making sure that everyone is following me, that no one has strayed from the path. With every step I can’t help but get creeped out. For such a huge forest there’s no sound of wildlife, just loud silence. It’s like a predator had stepped into the forest and every living thing went quiet to avoid its attention, or that every living thing is quiet because it’s been devoured. Don’t know which one is worse.

I don’t know how long we’re walking in this fucking nightmare for before the crazy talk starts. I keep on walking, hands clenched at hearing the crazy behind me. I think that this is why Gandalf wasn’t too worried about leaving us here. My direct connection with the Valar is no doubt keeping me from becoming a lunatic. The murmurs, the sudden sharp words and questions wash over me but I ignore it. As long as they don’t fucking turn on me I won’t clamp their limbs in stone and drag them behind me to the end of this fucking forest.

We stop once in a while so Thorin, still gripping onto his sanity by sheer force of will alone, can check on his men individually. He’s clenching his jaw hard, fists shaking with the effort of fighting against the sickness of this forest. I watch him, as he stares off into the distance with a near wild gaze, and see through the vile earth that we’re at least halfway through. I almost don’t want to take my eyes off of him, worried that’d he snap and lash out violently, but I have to remind my paranoia to chill the fuck out. I look around, breathing out slowly as the forest sickness becomes a tangible feeling that’s doing its best to slither into my mind. It’s sort of like a spell, like how I imagine the dementors feel. Invading your mind and bringing out the worst of your fears and memories to screw you over. Luckily, I’m a Potterhead and think happy thoughts. I push against the sickness and see that the forest is physically reflecting the infection. The trees are dry looking, dark and withered but growing strong, growing _wrong_. I look away, making sure that everyone gets on the path as Thorin snaps out a sharp command to keep moving.

I take point with Thorin, looking ahead with my sight and trying to ignore the senseless shit that the company is saying. Time has no meaning in here, the sun blocked out to make it impossible to track time, so I can’t say how long it takes for the company to start stumbling off the path. I’m left no other choice but to keep a tight hold on the company since more than one person tries to walk off the path. It’s like the forest _wants_ us to leave the safety of the path. Never did I think to see the day where I’m afraid of a damn forest. This forest is pretty much a grittier version of the Forbidden Forest. Next thing we needed was Aragog and his army of children, which now that I think back on it didn’t J.K. Rowling say that Hagrid had gotten the spider from a distant land? How mind bending would it be to know that that world was real in a different reality?

A near silent creak breaks through my musings and I look around with narrow searching eyes. I search through the ground but didn’t see anything. I hear Thorin order Bilbo to go up into the trees to measure our distance from the exit, not bothering to even ask me. I don’t say anything though, not wanting to test Thorin’s grip on his sanity, and watch the hobbit get a boost from Dwalin, when that hair rising feeling of being watched races up my spine like a cold spike. I stiffen as I look up at the trees, the darkness not revealing anything but I swear that something’s watching us, even if I can’t see it. My sight doesn’t extend to trees, which sucks ass considering the murder feeling that the forest is giving off. Trees, fucking bane of my existence.

Bilbo shouts out that he can see the edge when all hell breaks loose.

I just had to jinx it didn’t I?

Those creepy giant spiders, who’re most definitely just as human-eating as Aragog, must be Ungoliant’s offspring; which can only mean that this is the work of fucking Sauron. He’s the only one that ever managed to command that spider according to Radagast.

“Weapon’s out! We got company!” I shout as a spider launches itself out of the trees with a chilling shriek. I pull up a rock spear and impale it, its saliva dripping down on my cheek.

Gross.

The heavy fog that the sickness had on the dwarves lifts at the sound of battle. The company pulls out their blades just as more spiders come out of the woodwork. I’m fighting with one, my ‘eye’ watching as Thorin, Nori and Bifur charge to take on a spider. I hear the wind ripping with the speed of Kíli’s arrow, sinking into another spider’s head followed up by Fíli rolling under the spider’s weak spot and gutting it.

The battle goes on, as with every spider we drop another takes its place. I watch as one by one the company’s being scooped up and taken away. I gut one spider to go rescue the dwarves only to be stopped as another massive spider drops from the fucking trees to try and eat me. Fuck my life right now. I fucking hate this forest. I watch uselessly as Thorin’s yanked up, a spider hanging suspended between two trees wrapping the exiled king in silk threads. Thorin tries to raise his sword but the silk threads are strong and I watch as he’s engulf in a web before being hauled away into the trees. I scream in rage as I dodge a spider, not caring that my vision would be reduced as I jump into the trees. I’m very small compared to these eight legged freaks, and manage to swerve and lose them after a while. I end up leaning against a tree, bumping my head against the trunk in anger. Not only did we leave the path, but the company has been captured and I’m fucking lost. “Fuck.”

“Pssst, Constance.”

I freeze but immediately melt with relief at the sound of my name. I look up and see Bilbo staring down at me with wide fear filled eyes. “Oh Bilbo, am I fucking glad to see you.” I hoarsely whisper at the scruffy looking hobbit.

Bilbo makes his way down to me, looking like a monkey as he expertly climbs down and crouches next to me. He crowds against me, his hand grabbing me and I don’t hesitate in pulling him into a hug. “I thought everyone was captured by the spiders.” He says as he backs out and looks around with paranoia.

“Not everyone,” I say with a brittle grin, “we’re still in play. Do you know where they went?”

Bilbo shakes his head, “No, but if we follow the webs I’m sure we’ll find them.” He points out into the distance, the thick white webs looking ominous.

I nod and we off we go, swinging our way to rescue the dwarves. I think I may have to change my view on trees…they may have some use after all.

Bilbo takes off at a run and leaps onto another branch, his feet gripping onto the bark like a gorilla and pulling himself up onto another branch. I grab hold of the branch that I’m standing on, catching my breath like a rookie. Running and jumping through trees is more exhausting than it looks. Bilbo turns to look at me, waving his hand to hurry me along and I stifle a groan. I take a few steps back, having to pay extra attention to where I step because my sight is worth shit in trees, and hope to God that I don’t bust my ass. If a damn hobbit can make the jump then so can I dammit. I break into a run, the branch shaking horribly under my weight in a way that I block out for my own sanity, and jump with everything that I have. I force my eyes open and reach out with my arm to grab onto a branch. My arm makes contact and I feel my body swing violently into the bark, breath leaving my lungs abruptly. My mind is blank with adrenaline as I can hear the branch groan in protest with my weight.

“Hurry Constance.” Bilbo hisses as he scurries across the trees like a woodland creature.

I force myself to release my death grip on the tree and push on. Dwarves were in need of saving.

We make our way through the trees for a while until we hit heavy traffic of webs. Bilbo and I squat down and assess the situation, which from our viewpoint isnt looking all that great. It’s like a winter wonderland, the webs overtaking the trees and right smack in the middle are thirteen sacks.

“Well, the good news is that we found them.” Bilbo says with a deadpan expression.

“Bad news?” I ask with an equal measure of stoicism. Bilbo points up wordlessly. I follow his finger and see spiders guarding the company. “Great.”

“I think I can go in and cut them down.” Bilbo whispers as he checks out the area.

I nod and look down, “Shouldn’t be too much of a drop. I’ll make my way down and guard below, make sure they don’t get caught…again.”

Bilbo turns to give me a nod, his face set grimly with Sting held tightly in his hand.

I watch him for a few minutes, seeing how he quickly and nimbly moves through the trees towards the company. I see him make it to the first sack, ripping the web and revealing Thorin’s unconscious face. The dwarf king peaceful like that, without the worry and anger that he constantly has weighing down on him lining his face. Bilbo looks to me and makes a chopping gesture with Sting, taking that as my cue I look down at the ground and take a breath before jumping down. I bend my knees and the second I make contact with the earth I soften it into sand to cancel out any sound of impact.

I look up and give Bilbo a thumbs up. Soon a white webbed sack’s dropping to the ground. It lands soundlessly, having turned the surrounding area into sand, and I watch as one by one the company’s dropped. I watch as Bilbo begins to climb down and turn away to wake the company up. I tear open their sacks and slap them, but all I get from that is their eyes blinking open sluggishly. I convert the sand back to hard earth and feel when Bilbo touches down on the ground and makes his way to me.

“Why aren’t they moving?” The hobbit asks.

“Whatever the spiders did has them paralyzed. Don’t know how long its runs but hopefully fast since we need to get the fuck out of here.” I say as I watch Thorin glare at nothing in particular.

Bilbo and I drag them out from the open and wait for what seems a lifetime before Thorin manages to twitch and suddenly the dwarves explode into action, rolling around to get rid of the webs and get on their feet.

“We must hurry away from here.” The Dwarf King says in a whisper.

I couldn’t agree more, but it seems as if Murphy’s Law followed me from Earth because just then the spiders finally figure out that their dinner was making an escape.

The angry shrieks of the spiders echo throughout the area and push us into high gear. I hear Thorin yell out for Fíli, who cries out for Kíli, but when I turn to get the archer I’m tackled by a foul scented hairy spider. I grunt at the force of the impact as we go rolling away from the main fight, but I don’t stress too hard since I can still hear the spiders cry out in pain and hope that Thorin’s kicking ass. I manage to throw the spider off me and get to my feet. The spider’s rolling its huge body up and when it’s legs gain purchase it turns to move its pinchers at me in a clear threat. I respond by rolling my shoulders and throwing the first punch.

Managing to slide under the spider I drive my fist up at its belly, a deadly sharp spear rising with me and killing it. I roll away before the carcass drops on me and still as I register new presences next to Thorin. I look through the earth and see how the immediate area is littered with dead spiders and I can only assume that its thanks to the new comers. I slowly make my way to the area, drenched in spider guts and movements silent. I stop when I’m close enough to see and not be seen and choke on air.

Elves.

I watch as they surround the company, in the trees with their arrows up and pointed at them, on the ground with their bows up and swords out. I look at them, their beautiful faces sharp and more feral than the elves of Rivendell. Are these the elves under King Thranduil? Not enough information to know for sure and definitely out numbered. I have no choice but to wait and see where this goes. I see a sleek looking elf, his face turned away from me, but judging by his armor he must be in charge. He’s taking Thorin’s sword when a movement to the right catches my attention. I look and see a red haired she-elf leading a dazed looking Kíli to the rest of the group.

I resist snorting in amusement and watch as the elves strip the dwarves of their weapons, the elf handling Fíli straining at the amount of blades the golden haired dwarf has on him. How Fíli does it to not be stabbed by his own blades is a mystery.

I look back to Thorin and watch him carefully scan the area, no doubt looking for me and Bilbo but not wanting to alert the elves of our existence. I can sense Bilbo, he’s so close to the elves that he must be doing that weird invisible shit in order to stay hidden. I don’t dare move an inch, I’ve been told about the amazing senses that elves have, and know that the only reason I haven’t been spotted is because I’m drenched in quickly drying spider entrails. I don’t smell remotely human. I know that the best way to save the dwarves is to once again let them be captured and taken to the elves strong hold. At least there’ll be no spiders there.

The elves tie the dwarves up and tug at them to walk, like a line of children, and I wait until I can’t see them with my eyes to follow. I keep track of them through the earth, and see that Bilbo’s also following them. I don’t let Bilbo know that I’m following, don’t wanna startle the hobbit into revealing his position, and the two of us stalk the elves through the forest.

They don’t follow the path, which means that they have some kind of immunity against the dementor like magic of the forest. I keep my eyes on them and soon I see the trees start to gain color, the very air becoming cleaner and the tendrils of sickness falling away. I breathe in deeply the clean air and wrinkle my nose.

I smell horrible.

I ignore it because as soon as the changes in forest become apparent a huge ravine separates the forest and an awe-dropping majestic looking palace. My steps falter just a bit, echoing Bilbo’s, as the powerful roots and branches of the forest twist beautifully into the air, framing the palace. There are lanterns lit throughout, sending off a soft glow that makes the palace look ethereal. It’s breathtaking.

I tear my gaze away from the magnificent looking fortress and look to the elves. The commander is taking up the rear, his long pale blond hair swaying gently with his powerful gait, before he falters to look over his shoulder in a sharp movement. I quickly hide behind a tree, not getting a good look at the elf’s face, but know that I don’t want his eyes to catch sight of me. I stay still, waiting for him to keep walking across the stone bridge. I can sense Bilbo following him and soon I hear a loud clang. I wait a few beats before I look out from my cover. There is no one outside.

I creep forward, using the trees as cover, until I get as close as I dare to. The clang was the sound of the entrance shutting, the great big doors of the palace closing me off from my crew. I crouch down at the base of a tree and look around. I catch sight of guards, hidden cleverly above the entrance, bows out and quivers full of arrows. I have no chance at all in sneaking in; their elven eyes would spot me with the next step I take. I close my eyes and try to see within the palace but there are blind spots almost everywhere because the kingdom is built in and around monstrous sized trees.

Dammit!

I huff out an annoyed sigh and rub my face. I need to calm down, I need to focus. I sit down on the ground, back resting against the trunk and knees drawn up. I rest my arms on my knees and breathe slowly; I push my sight as hard as I can around the fortress and the surrounding area. It’s frustrating since my sight blurs in and out, like a weak signal, spots where stone isn’t overtaken by wood. Soon enough I catch sight of the company. They’re in what looks to be in the middle of the palace, and I can just make-out a lone figure retreating in the distance from a platform before disappearing. Ok, so they’re being led obviously to the big honcho in this place. King Thranduil no doubt, I hope Thorin will be able to keep his cool.

Who am I kidding? Thorin will be Thorin and will be biting at the bit to hurl insults at the elf.

 

I keep my sights on the company, counting the thirteen figures and see that they’re on the move…now short one. I bite my lip, wondering on where to keep my vision on before settling on following the majority of the company. I watch as they steadily become clearer in my sight, as they descend deeper into the earth. I feel my muscles lose some of its tension at being able to finally see them and relax just a bit.

I watch as each dwarf is placed in a cell, and contemplate how to get all of them out of there. I look for a way to enter the palace undetected like Bilbo had, but the damn ravine would expose me in a second, especially since at the bottom of it I can feel a river running through it. I’m just about to look away when I catch sight of two figures appear. It looks like the rock’s arching over the river, the figures to the side of a blind spot. I frown until I figure out that that was my entry point. I can travel deep into the ground until I hit the river and follow it to the archway.

My nerves calm and I let myself sink into the earth, leaving a small hole exposed to filter in oxygen. I tunnel my way to the river and step out, scoping out the area and sensing it clear. I breathe deeply before crouching by the water and cup a handful to drink. After quenching my thirst I take off the tatter remains of my cloak and dip it into the water. I scrub myself as clean as I can and sigh with pleasure as my skin feels like skin again.

Throwing away the ruined cloak, sad to see it go, and start to walk upstream. Once reaching the beginning of the archway I start to climb the stone wall. I create footholds and edges to hold onto as I climb, and soon enough I’m high inside an open cave the river below slapping softly against the rock. I watch through the earth as the two figures, whose outline showed that they’re elves, stand around for a while…a long while…before finally fucking off.

I push through the earth, creating my own doorway, and walk into what can only be a wine cellar. On one wall, carved into the stone, are little holes filled with wine bottles and on another side are barrels stacked on top of each other on a wooden floor. I take a moment to center myself before moving across the room and towards the door.

I push the door open, inch by inch, before I make an opening big enough for me to slip out of. I sweep the hallway, trying to see if it’s safe enough to cross when I feel someone magically appear behind me from a blind spot. I turn fast, my fist flying forward that I just punch the wall instead of a face.

What the fuck?

I frown before it hits me, who do I know who can turn invisible and is really short? “Bilbo it better be you sneaking up on me.” I hiss as I lower my gaze. Sure enough I see Bilbo, but I don’t _see_ him.

“This way.” Comes his own whisper as his small hand closes around my own.

It feels so weird, I feel him but I can’t see him. Was this how Hermione and Ron would feel when Harry would go off under his cloak? If it is then I wanted nothing to do with it. I tell Bilbo, feeling like an idiot speaking to nothing but air, about the dungeons only for the hobbit to tell me that he already knew about them.

Well, methinks that Bilbo’s finally learning how to be a solider. I don’t know why but it makes me a sad. Shrugging it off I let myself be dragged about by Bilbo, trusting him to guide us without running into the elves. My vision’s blurring in and out but soon we’re heading for the dungeons.

“They led Thorin down here a while ago. He was with the Elven King…I don’t know exactly what they were speaking on but it must have not gone well considering.” Bilbo whispers to me.

I hum in agreement as Bilbo leads us to a doorway.

“I managed to listen in on a conversation with the King and the Captain of the Guard,” Bilbo says with an awkward look on his face, “it wasn’t very pleasant for anyone involved. Not to worry though, it had nothing to do with Thorin and the rest.”

“Who’s the Captain of the Guard?” I ask.

“The she-elf with red hair.”

“Ah, know her name?”

“Captain of the Guard Tauriel of the Woodland Realm.” Bilbo says in a clipped manner as we cross the doorway.

“Have any idea who the blonde was? He seemed to be a higher rank than the Captain.” Higher rank just didn’t cover it. The very air around the elf pulsed with power.

“Ah, that would be Prince Legolas.” Bilbo whispers as we enter the dungeons.

“Prince Legolas…he seems like the type of person that we should avoid at all costs.” I say before I stop. “Found them, they’re in the lower levels.”

“I think I have a way out.” Bilbo says as he tells me about the wooden floor in the wine cellar.

“Bilbo, Thorin was wrong about you. You’re perfect for being on this quest.” I say with sincere praise. The hobbit’s keeping pace with me, actively finding solutions to complete our mission. If that doesn’t prove that he’s valuable than I don’t know what will, all I know is that without him I would probably still be in the Forest of Doom.  

Bilbo squeezes my hand, still invisible, and hear the gratitude in his voice. “Thank you Constance, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” Bilbo’s voice breaks with emotion before he clears his throat. “Right then, let’s press on.”

I let Bilbo lead, not drawing attention to the fact that I think he wasn’t exactly thinking on the company’s acceptance of him when I thanked him. I wonder if it has anything to do with whatever is making him invisible. The feeling of wrongness is faint, not strong enough for me to say if it’s my paranoia or an actual threat.

“So the King isn’t letting us pass?” I ask in order to break the weird air between us.

“No, I heard some elves say that the King is planning on keeping them locked away for a hundred years to see if Thorin will want to negotiate then.”

“Why am I not surprised to find that Thorin is refusing to even negotiate with elves?” I say to myself.

Bilbo and I keep walking down into the dungeons, and soon I smell the company before I see them. Bilbo takes off his ring and hurries down to where I know Thorin’s cell is no doubt to tell him of the plan. I take a slower gait and walk up to one cell and see Kíli staring at the ceiling with a punch drunk look on his face. I quirk a brow, apparently being a prisoner to elves isn’t that bad if Kíli looks like he’s one second away from sprouting poetry. Tapping against the bars I watch Kíli turn to look at me with a lovesick look before it morphs into one of shock and joy. I feel like I’m missing something, who did Kíli think or hope I was?

“Constance!” Kíli gasps aloud before I shush him with a glare. “We thought you were dead! How did you get in here?” He whispers as he rushes to the cell door.

“Gee thanks for your confidence Kíli. As you can see I’m not dead, I was busying wrestling a damn spider when you all got captured, again. Bilbo and I stayed hidden and tracked the elves back here and broke in to rescue you.”

“Wrestling a spider…” Kíli says in wonder before shaking his head. “Okay so what’s the plan?”

“Bilbo’s finding Thorin now, just wait alright. I’m going to make sure everyone else knows that the cavalry’s arrived.” I leave Kíli and walk down the small pathway and grin at the wide smiles that the dwarves give me as I walk by. I pass by Dwalin and bump fists with the brooding dwarf and nod at Balin who’s sitting calmly on the stone floor. Finally I go to the last occupied cell and see Thorin glaring at the stone wall with all the fury that’s barely contained in his body. I pause at the sight, wondering where the hell Bilbo is at before I see him turn a corner. I wonder if I should make my presence known. Usually Thorin is so controlled and good at hiding his emotions, but seeing him like that…with his emotions bared…I can’t lie and say that it doesn’t freak me out. I feel like I was walking towards a wild animal that would rip out my throat if I so much as moved wrong. Normally I would leave someone alone with their pain, but we’re risking discovery with every second so I take a step and clear my throat. Those burning blue eyes land on me, and I see how quickly the wall comes slamming down on his feelings.

“Glad to see you alive Constance.”

“Yeah you too.” I answer back just as Bilbo comes creeping into our view. Thorin gives him an appraising look before asking us how we intend to break them free. I flex my arms and the cell doors come swinging open as smooth as silk.

“How are we leaving?” Thorin says as he steps out of his cell with regal grace.

“Bilbo found a way out through the wine cellars.”

“I see.” Thorin answers as he gives me a searching look before asking me what happened in the forest.

“You saw it, that spider came flying at me. We went crashing through the forest and I ended up wrestling with it. I killed it in the end but by that time you were all surrounded by the elves. So I did the only thing I could do. I hid, along with Bilbo, and followed you from a distance. We both managed to break in and here we are. Now can anymore commentary wait until we’re free of this place?”  

Thorin glares lightly but steps ahead to follow Bilbo. I wait till almost everyone’s passed me to acknowledge a certain golden haired heir to the throne.

“Constance!” Fíli hisses as he makes his way towards me and grabs my arm with an iron like grip. “Do you not know how worried I was? I thought that you…” The golden haired dwarf trails off while staring hard at me.

I wince in guilt. This business of being friends was harder than I remembered. I tug his arm, the one that’s trying its hardest to become infused with mine by how hard he’s grabbing me, until I could hold his rough calloused hand in my own. I squeeze his hand, “I’m sorry Fíli, but right now isnt the time for heartfelt reunions.”

Fíli squeezes my hand back, a small smile gracing his lips, “I guess you’re right. Come on, before Thorin comes back to tan our hides.”

We quickly catch up to the group and are close enough to hear Thorin talk to Bilbo.

“Bilbo,” Thorin says smoothly as if being held prisoner within an elven prison was no big deal, “just how do you plan on us leaving from the wine cellars?”

Bilbo clears his throat and straightens his back, “There’s an opening to the river.”

“The wine cellars? We’d be walking further into this place.” Glóin says with a sneer.

“Trust me on this.” Bilbo says with a bit of annoyance, looking very on edge.

“Take point Bilbo,” Thorin commands silencing the company from making any other comment before turning to look at me with questioning eyes, “Constance?”

“All clear.” So far until we hit the blind spots. Thorin nods before giving Bilbo a look that has the little hobbit scurrying forward to lead us out.

We creep through the hallways, silent and in a line, my heart beating wildly at the feeling of being discovered…at having so many blind spots. I don’t notice that I’m clenching my fists or breathing hard like a racehorse until a warm hand envelops mine. I look slightly down and connect with deep blue eyes, Fíli.

He truly is beautiful. It’s almost a shame that I don’t like him…in _that way_. Almost. Either way it doesn’t stop me from interlacing our fingers and holding on for all that I’m worth, just for a little while anyway. I can’t see myself doing all these touchy feely things with Dwalin, so it’s good that Fíli is all for touchy feely.

We make it into the cellar, and note where the stone stops and a wooden panel takes up the far corner. This must be what Bilbo was talking about. I count the barrels and know that we’re short. I suppose I could always get out just as I came in.

“Come on lass, better hurry and get a barrel…unless you were hoping to share one with a certain someone?” The teasing voice of Bofur whispers to me as he wiggles his eyebrows.

I look down at him with a faint glare, “Bofur shut up.”

Bofur raises his hands in surrender, but his dark colored eyes glitter with mirth. I roll my eyes and take stock of the situation. Thorin already has his nephews corralled by the barrels, eyes practically stuffing them inside the barrels. Dwalin’s muttering darkly as he stands before his own barrel, trying to figure out how he’s going to get into the barrel without looking ridiculous. Balin’s already inside his barrel, calmly adjusting his body and closing his eyes in serenity. Bifur jumps in and Nori’s star shaped hair’s already jutting out from another barrel; Dori’s supervising Ori into his own barrel, ignoring the look of mortification on the poor young dwarf’s face. Bofur’s sliding into his own barrel as he sends me a wink. I shake my head at his antics and cast a worried glance at Bombur. How in the hell is the red haired dwarf going to get into the barrel? Bombur is one big fat motherfucker, and I say that in the most respectful of tones. I watch unabashedly as Bombur looks at the barrel as if it personally had offended him and takes a wide stance. I feel a grin tugging at my lips as the fat dwarf bends his knees and with a mighty jump hurls himself into the barrel. I am, needless to say, impressed that he managed to jump with all his weight let alone fit inside.  I look away and see Glóin and Óin already inside their respective barrels; Thorin’s staring at the last barrel with a calculating gaze. Those vivid blue eyes lock onto me in the next second and I quirk an eyebrow in question. Thorin eyes my figure, and I somehow manage to not squirm under it like a new recruit before they’re CO. Where Fíli’s gaze is all warmth and friendship, Thorin’s a sharp edged knife slowly sliding against my skin waiting for a wrong move before plunging into me.

“Come with me Constance.” Thorin says as he comes to a decision.

I stand there staring at him with wide eyes, because Thorin can’t possibly be saying what I think he’s saying. I can’t help but look at Bofur, and see that the damn dwarf’s biting his hand to stifle his laughter. A soft snort leads me to look up at Dwalin, who’s smirking at me and I don’t even want to look at Kíli and Fíli. I’m about to protest when that knife edged stare looks just about to cut me down if I even utter a protest. In the end I make the tactical decision and walk towards the Dwarf King. If going into the damn barrel with the dwarf quickens our escape then so be it, besides I’m his protection detail gotta stay close to the bastard. Thorin grips a hand on the edge of the barrel, places his foot on an occupied barrel that I just know contains Fíli and smoothly heaves himself up and into the barrel.

Grace, the dwarf had fucking deadly grace.

Those magnetic eyes look to me and I copy his moves. I place my foot on Fíli’s barrel, ignoring the urge to look down at him, and pull myself up and into the barrel careful not to kick Thorin in the face. Thorin pushed back against the wooden frame, making room for me all the while keeping those intense eyes on me.

I can’t help but notice that my heart rate decided to see if it can really jump out of my fucking chest. It isn’t because I secretly like Thorin, and it isn’t because Thorin’s a delicious hunk of male, no it isn’t that. It’s because the vibe that my spidey sense is picking up on is beyond intense. Thorin feels like a damn lighting storm, all power and ferocity. I feel like I’m lying down next to a live wire. It’s almost all consuming and shit what if I accidently touch him? I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down. This spidey sense crap needs to get under control!

I jerk in surprise when strong hands grab my waist to pull me down further into the barrel. I keep my mouth shut as Thorin guides me next to him; it’s a tight fit, my armor sliding against Thorin’s chest and my legs tangling with his. I feel a blush rage against my cheeks because fucking Thorin is fucking staring at me as if it isn’t creepy to look at someone without blinking. I resist the urge to stick out my tongue and make a face at the Dwarf King; instead I try to keep as much space between our bodies as possible.

Thorin soon calls out to Bilbo to open the panel and I forget all about keeping as much space as possible between us. The barrel starts to rock and my hands fly towards Thorin, grabbing onto his strong back and pushing myself closer to him.

Have you ever been inside a barrel, where space is a laughable imaginable concept, and suddenly its starts rolling about and dropping into what feels like a black hole? Yeah not so much fun, it’s terrifying actually.

Thorin chuckles at my display of fear, but at the moment I can honestly say that I don’t care because we’re free falling before hitting the water hard. I shout sharply at the brutal landing before closing my mouth tight to avoid drowning. The combined weight of Thorin and me drags the barrel low into the water, water rushing in up to our waist before we’re propelled up.

Thank God for buoyancy.

Thorin and I have a weird moment of detangling our limbs, hands smacking faces, and hair being shoved in mouths; finally we manage to unsnarl ourselves from each other and grab onto the barrel rim as we bob wildly. There are a few seconds where we both tense up, thinking that this dip of the barrel will capsize us, but we release a sigh of relief when we stabilize.

“Grab onto the rocks!” Thorin whisper shouts, his hands gripping onto the rough rock wall.

I focus on keeping my body centered and wait until Bilbo escapes. Seconds later a small body drops in front of us and I see Bilbo splashing wildly as he tries to not to drown. Finally Balin manages to grab the hobbit and drag him to his barrel.

“Welcome back Burglar.” Thorin says with an amused smirk before letting go of the rocks.

I grin at the harassed looking hobbit, his curls weighed down and looking like a wet cat. I look towards the river and almost relax at the prospect of a gentle ride down the lazy stream. Soon we’re breaking the cover of the cave and I manage to get a good look at our surroundings. Lush green trees, sparkling blue water, bright clear skies; this was how this forest was supposed to look.

“That wasn’t so bad.” I breathe out as my muscles slowly ease out of the tight tension I had.

Thorin chuckles before a rare look of surprise makes his eyes go wide. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

I follow his line of sight and see a waterfall, the water white at how powerful its current is. “Oh fuck.” I barely have enough time to grab Thorin before we’re thrust over the raging waters. The barrel’s twisting, flying, and crashing into the whitewater’s. Cold water’s flooding our barrel, soaking us within seconds and trying its best to drown us. I have never drunk so much water in my life then going down this stream. After what seems a lifetime choking out water and frantically trying to catch my breath as the barrel dives and bops ruthlessly, the water calms the fuck down and we bop gently down the stream to a where a small gate is open, leading into the rest of the river. I’m staring at it, trying to find a good place to put my hands on when I hear a shout.

“Elves!” Dwalin roars out.

You know, just once I want to manage an escape smoothly. Just once.

Sure enough lithe figures are jumping over branches and running alongside the water’s edge, never taking their eyes off us. I would be fascinated by the way they move, powerful and fast, but at the moment I’m just done with anything preventing me from leaving this goddamn river. I can feel Thorin tense up beside me, but I pay little attention to him as I try and will the water to push us faster through the gate. My hopes are dashed though once I see an elf race across the small bridge and pull on a lever, denying us our escape.

Nope. I refuse. I am not going to stay in this deathtrap of a barrel any longer, water running down my face and half submerged in it. Not acceptable. I bid my time, waiting for our barrel to slam against the iron bars. Once we’re there, Thorin snarling out his frustration, I look at the bars and the stone. I can feel my face give a spastic twitch, going unnoticed by Thorin and really that’s just as well. While Thorin’s off sprouting curses in Khuzdul, I shove the dwarf out of my way, ignoring the chilling glare he sends me and grab hold of the iron bars. I am not going to stay here for another second. I pull with all my strength, grunting as the metal begins to bend with the force I’m using. Iron is different than earth, not much but there is a difference. The earth is organic while iron is a chemical element. The earth is alive, and iron is well not. I connect better with the living soil but I’m going to conquer iron, just watch…starting with this fucking iron bars. I bare my teeth as I give another pull to make an opening. There’s a loud grating sound of metal sliding against each other, the sound like nails on a chalk board, as the bars bend. I hear Thorin murmuring words of encouragement behind me, his fevered whispers egging me on as I pull with renewed strength. Soon we’re halfway through the hole, the barrel squeezing past the bent iron bars, when the worst fucking thing happens.

A splash as Kíli yells out the one word that I really don’t want to hear: Orcs.

The filthy disfigured creatures come out of the woods with a horrible stench and horrible war cries. I look up and see them hacking away at the elves, who are now trying to protect us from being slaughter like sheep.

I keep on pulling, sweat breaking out as I curse the metal to fucking move. I knew I should have pushed my training on manipulating metal. I feel the same way I felt when it was my first day in training when I was a teenager on Earth, weak and useless. Back then moving a single rock had me panting with exertion, seriously the worst possible moment to try my hand at it now.

I watch as the bars give another inch, the barrel sliding slowly through the opening before I flinch at Fíli’s hoarse shout ringing out through the sound of battle.

“Kíli! No!” Fíli screams out.

I’m turning to look over my shoulder when Thorin yells at me.

“Get us out of here!”

I bare my teeth and glare at the bars. I am the goddamn Stone Guardian. I have never failed a mission back on my home planet. I will not let some goddamn bars get one up on me. Losing is not a fucking option. I brace my legs against the barrel and let out a long scream of frustration, arms flexing with all my strength. Suddenly I’m falling back against Thorin, slamming him against the other side of the barrel as I rip the bars out of the stone.

Our barrel slides through the gap, the others following through with an ease that makes me want to punch something. Thorin shoves me aside as he looks back to see his nephews. I manage to get up on my feet and assess the situation. Orcs and Elves are slaughtering each other; I see some of the company wielding orc weaponry that they no doubt nabbed from the enemy. I make a head count and feel my heart seize as I see that a certain dwarf archer is missing. I look back to the gates and see Kíli kneeling by the lever, an arrow lodged in his thigh and an orc standing over him with a sword held high.

I hear Thorin and Fíli scream in fear and rage, bile starting to rush up my throat at the sight of one of my charges about to be beheaded. I watch as the orc starts to swing down before an arrow pierces through its head. I barely dare to breathe as the red haired she-elf kills her way towards the stone bridge, a look of rage on her beautiful face.

Tauriel, the Captain of the Guard.

She saved Kíli, and judging by her face as she cut downs Orcs she does it with extreme prejudice. I’m confused why this she-elf would risk her life to save Kíli’s, but that’s before I see her kneeling down next to the dark haired archer. I can hear Thorin yelling instructions to Fíli who’s still near to the gate, but the sounds fade as I watch something incredible.

My eyes narrow in tunnel vision until all I see is Tauriel and Kíli, a breeze brushing against my face and that’s when I hear it…whispers in the wind.

_Pay attention_

I watch as Tauriel stares at Kíli, her expression soft and pinched with worry for him, before grabbing him and pushing him over the edge of the bridge and into Fíli’s waiting arms. She stays kneeling until Kíli’s safely in his brother’s arms before turning back to the battle.

Oh.

_Oh_ …I think…I think I just witnessed something very important.

I’m torn out of my thoughts as Thorin gives a battle cry, and suddenly the noise filters back in. Right now I need to focus on the fight, and not whatever it is that I just saw.

I’m in the water, no earth nearby to help me fight but I have the iron bars. I open my palms and have the bars levitating shakily, but working, before I send them flying to kill Orcs that think that they can get close. We weave our way through the water, the elves killing Orcs on the ground, and us killing them in the water. These Orcs just don’t give up do they? I would admire their tenacity if it wasn’t for the small detail that they’re trying to kill us.

I’m in the middle of impaling an orc that was jumping towards us when next to me Thorin gives out a sound of surprise and outrage. I pull the iron bar out and turn to make a joke when I see Thorin’s head being stepped on. I frown and look up with disbelief at the elf that has balls of steel to be stepping on Thorin’s head like that.

I catch sight of familiar looking long blonde hair, tight fitting forest armor, sharp cheekbones and vibrant steel blue eyes. Normally all elves look kinda the same to me; gorgeous and slender…kinda androgynous. The males looked as graceful and beautiful as the females and vice versa. There are, I’m sure, some exceptions. Lord Elrond for example, is blaring masculine and attractive. Lady Galadriel’s so mesmerizingly female. And now this elf, Prince Legolas or my name isn’t Constance, is added to the list. A strong jawline, clenched as he keeps perfect balance atop of Thorin’s skull, and furrowed dark brows as he aims his arrow with steady arms. This elf’s beauty has me feeling punch drunk stupid, somehow almost as much as seeing Galadriel for the first time did. I’m ashamed to say that I just stand there like an idiot gawking at him as he fires arrows at Orcs with inhuman speed. Prince Legolas twirls and practically dances on Thorin’s head as he decimates Orcs. I can practically feel Thorin seethe beside me, but he doesn’t try to dislodge the elf. Even he knows that without Legolas we won’t survive our little river ride.

I think the almost physical manifestation of Thorin’s anger snaps me out of my weird fog. I shake my head and raise my bars in the air and send them flying. I keep half an eye on the ballet dancing Elf and watched as he jumps off Thorin’s head and onto an overhead branch, racing towards land to cut down an Orc that’s aiming an arrow at us. I have never seen anyone fight with such precise savage movements. It’s such a contradiction, especially looking the way he looks. It’s enthralling.

As he fights, I see an Orc trying to sneak up on him before a blade’s thrown with deadly accuracy at the creature’s chest. I look to the side and gave the grumpy King a smirk, look at him saving elves. Thorin gives me look that’s full of promise of pain if I ever mention this to anyone. I look to where the Prince is and see him staring at Thorin, a small confused wrinkle between his brows at having the Dwarf King save his life. I snicker at the twin expressions of confusion and suspicion that the dwarf and the elf are sporting when those steel blue eyes cut to me.

Jesus. It’s almost like when Thorin’s staring at me when he wants to punch me in the face…only not. You see where Thorin looks like he’ll tear your face off this elf looks like he wants to see in which way he can cause ultimate levels of humiliating defeat. Maybe I’m reading too much in that look…or maybe I’m not.

I see the Prince scowl heavily at the sight of me, not comprehending my presence amongst the dwarves. I can’t help but smirk at the rapidly fading Prince, knowing that he could still see me clearly with his enhanced senses. And because I have a somewhat petty personality I laugh and poke at him, “How does it feel knowing that you missed me back at the spider’s nest? I heard all about how great elves are and yet you didn’t catch sight of me, what’s worse is you didn’t even notice that I had followed you back to the palace. Who do you think it was that broke the dwarves out?” I’m barely containing my laughter as I go for broke, “I suppose I should be thanking you for your incompetence, without it we wouldn’t be escaping…again.” I hear Thorin chuckle spitefully and I let loose a loud laugh as our barrel weaves smoothly away from the Prince and his kingdom. Our laughter dies down and we stay silent for a moment before Thorin clasps my shoulder.

“As much as I enjoy insulting an elf, try to not invoke the wrath of a skilled warrior while we’re stuck in a less than optimal position.” Thorin says as the last dregs of humor leave his face. “The river is slowing down, we’ll reach shore soon.” Thorin turns to the rest of the company, “Everyone get ready to paddle to shore!”

Finally after what seems like a decade we see shore and paddle our way to it. I practically fly out of the barrel, not giving a fuck as I kick Thorin in the gut in my haste to get on land. My legs crumple as they touch the gritty sand. Guess I didn’t earn my sea legs yet, but I comfort myself in knowing that I managed to not die in that barrel practically whitewater rafting through a battle. I don’t try to push myself up, instead I just crawl my way off shore feeling my muscles relax slowly as my third eye is up and running again. Leaving the water’s clutches I roll onto my back and lay there with my eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of being one with the earth once more. I take a deep cleansing breath, seeing through the earth as the dwarven company moves about getting their bearings. I can safely say that I will not be taking a bath for a while. I am so thoroughly soaked that I wonder if I’ll ever get dry.

I feel the sun warming my cold skin and stretch out my senses, as far as they go, and feel a ding come back to signal that someone’s creeping up on us. I curse but figure that it isn’t an orc because, the figure is alone and roughly the size of a human male. I watch as the man hesitates, his slow steps pinging against my senses on the hill above us. I decide he’s close enough. I push the ground to rise and encircle his legs. I open my eyes and see that the man has his bow pulled taunt. I see a rock fly past only to be knocked away by a well-placed arrow.

“Do it again and you’re dead.” A deep near coarse voice warns as another arrow is pulled quickly from a quiver.

“Not as dead as you’ll be if you don’t put down the bow and arrow.” I warn back from my prone position. I tighten the rock on his legs just enough to make sure that the man knows I mean business.

“What is this sorcery?” The man asks in a gruff manner, trying not to be impressed.

“It ain’t sorcery.” I drawl with a smile.

“Release me.” The man shoots back in a low dark tone.

I let out a tired sigh and push myself up to my feet. I shiver as cold river water trails down my body, and stomp my way over to him. I look up and take a better look at the man who doesn’t seem to understand in what a lackluster position he’s in. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on to make fucking demands. The man looks to be in his late thirties, a hard square jaw and hooded hazel green eyes glare at us all before settling his gaze on me. The man’s ruggedly handsome with his dark hair streaked with silver, pulled into a half pony tail and dark stubble. “I’ll release you when you put down your weapon.”

“What will stop you from using your dark magic when I do?” The man asks as he aims his brow at me.

“For the last time it isn’t magic, and I won’t hurt you if you play nice.” I say as I cross my arms over my chest.

The man doesn’t look like he believes that I’m being sincere, which I am by the way. I harden my expression as I let my arms loose. This is going to be tricky. I need to be faster than his arrow. The man seems to sense the danger and straighten his stance, aiming the arrow straight at me before Balin calmly steps next to me and lays his hand on my arm.

“I do believe we began on the wrong foot.” Balin says with a serene smile. “We don’t mean any harm,” Balin continues as he shoots me a look to stand down, “and we don’t want any trouble.”

“Then tell your witch to release me.” The man says stiffly.

“I am not a witch,” I snarl, “and if I was believe me I would’ve been trying to recreate spells from Harry Potter.” I say with an annoyed huff before Balin gives me another sharp look. I reluctantly let go of the rocks holding the man prisoner and watch as he lowers his bow and arrow.

“What are dwarves doing here?” The man asks as he glances at the company before locking his gaze on me again. “For that matter what is a woman doing amongst you unaccompanied?”

“That’s need to know and you don’t fucking need to know.” I snap back moodily before I’m yanked backwards hard enough to make my arm hurt. There’s only one dwarf strong enough to make me hurt. I’m already groaning when my eyes latch onto perfectly maintained wet silver hair.

“That is enough young lady!” Dori scolds sharply as he drags me over to where Ori is standing, the younger dwarf hurriedly opening his creepily dry book to jot down what was happening. “That foul mouth of yours will get us into more trouble than we need, let Balin deal with the man and you stay put.” Dori reprimands me until I’m standing next to Ori. The eldest of the Ri brothers gives me the stink eye before standing in front of us both like a mother hen.

“But,” I can’t help but say before Dori whirls around with a thunderous expression.

“No buts!” He says in a dangerous hiss that seems to be as loud as a shout.

I clamp my mouth shut and look away. Whatever, I didn’t want to talk to the man anymore anyway. I don’t pay attention to what Balin is saying, or what the man was saying either. I focus on seeing every twitch he makes through the earth. If he moved the wrong way I would break his legs. See how Dori likes that.

“He can be intimidating can’t he?” Nori whispers to me.

I don’t jump at Nori’s sudden appearance. If it weren’t for my mutation I wouldn’t have noticed his approach at all. Nori moved like a fucking shadow. His steps silent, but considering that he’s a thief he’d have to be quiet. Dwalin had told me about Nori being a thief when we had stopped for camp what seems like a lifetime ago. Dwalin doesn’t like Nori, sure he trusted him with his life, but he didn’t like the dwarf. I noticed that Dori also gave his brother a wide berth and didn’t let Ori get too close to Nori either. It was weird, Dori obviously loved his brother; it showed in the way that he always made sure that Nori got his fair share of supplies, had warm blankets and wasn’t excluded in the talks. But he never talked to him face to face; he never hugged him or anything. Nori wasn’t much better. He was always trailing after Dori and Ori, one hand on his sword and the other ready to pull them away from danger. Ori was more subtle. He didn’t speak to Nori, but he always left him drawings by Nori’s spot or inside the thief’s coat. It was heartwarming seeing Nori’s face light up when he got a drawing from his little brother. I wonder if Nori’s career choice in being a thief is the cause of the rift between the brothers. Life’s too short to be hung up on that shit, look at me. I died in my brother arms; if I had any of the baggage that the brothers Ri have I would have died with so much regret.

One thing I did notice was that Thorin gave a rat’s ass about Nori being a thief. Traveling with the company was like a history lesson on dwarven culture. Apparently Thorin had asked all seven dwarven kingdoms for back-up on this mission, and all of them shot him down. Just the fact that Nori, a thief, didn’t shy away from Thorin’s call for aide must have meant more to the Dwarven King then a morally ethical reputation.

I look at Nori, his weathered face set in a silly grin before turning away lest Dori catches me. “That’s one word for it.” I whisper back as I keep a close eye on the silver haired dwarf, making sure that he doesn’t hear me. Nori snickers as he makes his way towards where Bifur is, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I close my eyes and let my senses go wide towards the earth. I push them as far as they can go, seeing an orc pack at the fringes of my sight. No surprise there, at this point I would be more suspicious if they _weren’t_ following us. I decide to look forward and see that the river that we had just left bordered land until it became open water. I frown as I strain to see further out, not wanting to believe that we had so much land to cover to reach the mountain when my head begins to pound with pain. I stop pushing so far out and breathe through the powerful migraine. I feel a warm hand clasp over my fisted hands and open my eyes.

Fíli’s looking up at me with a concerned expression, “Alright?”

“I will be, you?” I answer with a pained grin.

“As much as one can be,” He answers with a smile, “I feel as if we’ll never reach the mountain.”

“I’m starting to think that there is no damn mountain.” I say back before looking to see if Thorin heard my blasphemous comment.

Fíli gives a bark of laughter, squeezing my hand a beat longer before letting go with a wink. “So you have any adventures like this back where you come from?”

“God no, I didn’t have to worry about becoming one with the water. The only time I was submerged in water was at the pool. That involved less clothing and more sun.” I say as we follow after the company, which is being led by the man.

“Less clothing?” Fíli says with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah, definitely less clothing…Dori would be scandalized by it. Back home they’re called bikinis, but it’s basically underwear, uh smallclothes, for the water.” I say with a wicked grin at the look on Fíli’s face.

“And the females dress this way…in front of males?” Fíli says with a horror filled look that doesn’t disguise the bright light of fascination.  

“That’s not an issue where I’m from. We have all kinds of different style of bikinis.” I can’t help but add since he knows just how modern underwear look like. When I said that Fíli’s a flirt I wasn’t joking. He talks a big game, but when I had decided to step into the ring and got down to my panties and sports bra I had never seen a male stutter and blush as hard as he had. Fíli had thrown his coat at me and turned his back to me, waving his arms wildly as he stuttered his way in telling me to cover up before Thorin caught us and skinned him alive for disrespecting my honor. It was cute, and I almost didn’t listen to him but then the thought of Thorin catching me in my skivvies had me scrambling to yank on my pants.

Fíli makes a weird choking sound before blushing at the image of no doubt countless females in nothing but underwear like mine.

I leave him to his musings, sniggering at his dazed look and go to check on his brother. I see Kíli gritting his teeth as he walks, the arrow pulled free from his thigh with a rag tied around it to stem the blood. I take a few steps before a sick feeling crawls up my throat. I look at Kíli, seeing him brush off offers of help and notice his pallor. I walk towards the dark haired dwarf and with every step I take the stronger this sick feeling gets. “Let me see.” I say to Kíli, forcing him to stop before he walks into me.

“I’ve taken care of it.” The youngest of Durin’s line says with a weak grin that does nothing to reassure me.

“I wasn’t asking Kíli.” I tell him as I stand to my full height, which isn’t much seeing as we’re almost the same height.

Kíli gives me a surprisingly good glare, but he isnt Thorin level yet. I stare him down until ultimately he yanks on his bandage and shows me his wound. It looks dirty. The blood oozing sluggishly out, I crouch down to get a better look. There’s something about the wound that’s poking at me. It feels sort of like the morgul-blade that Radagast had taken from Dol Guldur, but in a lesser potency.

“What are you doing?” Kíli asks in a shrill high-pitch as he tries to scramble back.

I grab his thigh and look up at him with a glare, “I need to look at it so stay still.”

“This is inappropriate.” Kíli tells me weakly as he looks down at me, flushing, before looking away.

“Shut up Kíli, your pants are still on so I don’t see why you’re freaking out.” I say calmly as I hold his leg still.

“Oh Mahal save me.” Kíli murmurs above me.

I lean closer to his leg and sniff. I immediately wish I hadn’t, dear fucking lord that stank. What the hell? I gently touch around the wound, Kíli hissing above me, when I got this overwhelming sense of darkness. I flinch back with wide eyes. I stare at the wound and get hit with the sense of something dark before I’m being yanked back by the collar of my armor.

“What is going on here?” Fíli growls out as his hand tightens, “Do you want Thorin to kill you?”

“Fíli! It’s not what it looks like, promise.” Kíli says as he throws his hands up.

“Fíli, what the hell?” I snarl out as I try to get out of his hold. “I was looking at his wound, something about it is rubbing me the wrong way.”

“There was no rubbing involved Fíli.” Kíli says quickly to his brother who’s glaring at the both of us.

For someone as flirty as Fíli is, he sure is a goddamn prude when the chips were down. “It’s a saying, as in it doesn’t feel right. There’s something about it that’s making me feel….dirty.” I explain as I stare off into the distance wondering what the hell is up with that injury.

“What?” Fíli asks as he gives me and Kíli a worried look.

“That wound is no ordinary wound. It’s calling out to me, like its taunting me with its filth. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think that you really need to get Óin to check it out Kíli.” I tell them both before I feel Bofur walking towards us.

“Hey you lot! Get a move on!” Bofur yells out to us before hurrying away.

I give the wound another look before turning away from both brothers and hurriedly make my way to the rest of the company. I turn a small wall of rocks and see a boat. I sigh heavily at the sight of it, “For fucks sake.” I can’t catch a break can I? I glare at the walk-way leading into the ship and stand on land with absolutely no desire to get on. “Why?” I ask no one in particular.

“Scared are you?” The man has the nerve to taunt with a smug grin, the smirk brightening his somber face.

I flip him off as I walk onto the ship in defiance, “Fuck you.”

“Constance.” Dori says with tired resignation.

“Not very ladylike are you.” The man says, his grin widening making his somber face bright with humor.

“Does it look like I care if I’m ladylike or not?” I say annoyed as I walk closer to him. “I’m a solider, ladies cower behind men. I’d sooner die then cower.” I can see Balin shake his head at my behavior, Dori giving me an annoyed look that a badgered mother would give, and Thorin was too busy looking over his nephews to bother. Bilbo’s too busy exploring the ship to give me any mind.

The man looks at me from head to toe, “You may have a point, you don’t have the look of someone who would cower. The true question here is how did you come to travel with dwarves? Are you married to one?” He asks with curiosity.

I choke on my surprise. “No, I’m not married to them or anyone.”

“Hmm, from where do you hail?” The man asks with a casual air. When he isn’t aiming arrows at us he can be kinda charming.

“It’s not very proper to be asking me all these questions when I don’t even know your name or where you come from.” I say as I cross my arms in delight.

The man chuckles and holds out his hand, “My name is Bard and I come from Lake-Town.”

I stare at his hand and practically feel Dori’s laser beam gaze on my back, warning me of the dangers to befall me if I’m rude to this man. I reach out and grab his hand, noting its callous texture from hard work, and shake it once firmly. “My name is Constance, and I come from the Greenwood.” Bard gives my hand another shake as he looks at me, as if he’s trying to solve a mystery. I return his stare, taking the advantage at having him so close to commit his appearance to memory. Tall, strong broad shoulders and a full bottom lip. Bard’s handsome, in a brawny sort of way. Wearing thick brown furs and leathers, some places in tatters but man did he wear it well. Someone clears their throat rather pointedly making Bard and I look over to see Dwalin giving us a look before signaling me that he needed to talk to me. “Well Bard it’s a pleasure meeting you.” I say as I shake his hand once more before letting go and making my way towards the battle hardened dwarf.

“Pleasure was all mine.” Bard drawls out with a smile.

I look at him from over my shoulder and to see him still looking at me before Dwalin nudges me with his elbow. I look down at the dwarf and see his disapproving look. “What?”

Dwalin leads us away from Bard, past the dwarves, past Bilbo who’s looking over the water in a thoughtful silence and towards the bow of the ship. “What are you playing at lass?”

“I was being polite.” I answer as I look out to the ice floating in the water.

“Don’t act stupid with me, you know what I mean.” Dwalin says to me as he walks to stand next to me, our backs to the company.

“Dwalin, I’m not blind and the man is hot.” I say easily with a slight smile.

“You got close enough to him to notice his temperature?” Dwalin asks with thick disapproval.

I let out a chortle at that, “No, hot as in he’s very attractive. I wonder how he looks under all that clothing.” I say to mess with the tattooed dwarf.

“I cannot believe my ears.” Dwalin huffs out as he crosses his muscular arms across his equally muscular chest.

I laugh at Dwalin before throwing an arm over his shoulders, one of the perks of being taller than him, “How come you’re acting so scandalized? I seem to recall that it was you bringing up the topic of Thorin and me having sex.” Dwalin hisses at me to be silent and looks around in paranoia. I laugh at him, “Dwalin, bro, you’re my best friend. If I can’t talk to you about these kinds of things who else am I to talk to? Thorin?”

We both turn to look at our fearless leader, who freakily enough turns to look at us at the same exact moment. Thorin narrows his intense blue eyes at us before his attention’s grabbed by Balin.

“I see your point.” Dwalin murmurs as he turns to look back out to the water.

“You know sometimes I think Thorin doesn’t even know that the opposite sex exists. I mean can you imagine if I started talking about sex with him? I think he’d explode.” I say with a mischievous grin.

Dwalin chuckles before he catches himself. “Never you mind about Thorin, he’s got more important things to think about.”

“That’s exactly my point Dwalin. He’s so wound up that I’m surprised he hasn’t killed us all in our sleep from the pressure. He needs to do us all a favor and get a nice long hard fuck in and relax.” I say looking at Dwalin from the corner of my eye. “Lake-Town must have a brothel or something in it, all towns do; that’s one thing I’m sure that both our worlds have in common. We should wrangle one up and throw her at Thorin, hopefully he’ll know what to do.”

“Are all women from your world like you?” Dwalin asks while shaking his head, not quite believing that we’re actually having this conversation.

“Please, if they were to be so lucky.” I shot back as I side hug him. “You think I’m vulgar than you wouldn’t last a week back on my world. There are women that even make me blush.” I wiggle my brows at the tattooed dwarf whose only response is to cover his face in mortification.

“Thorin would never compromise the quest,” Dwalin says somberly after a moment of silence, “not to mention that he wouldn’t touch a female from the race of Men.”

“What the…why?” I ask. Dwalin gives me a look and I sigh. “Thorin needs a kick in the ass. There are no dwarf women nearby and even if there was I’m getting the feeling that they’re not about that life.”

“The chances are pitiful actually.” Dwalin agrees with me.

“So why doesn’t he? He has money, and the women aren’t asking for marriage.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.” Dwalin says with finality.

“I guess.” I murmur before smirking at him. “We could just lock him in a room with a paid woman and let it be known that his masculinity has been questioned and see what happens.”

“You are terrible.” Dwalin says with a laugh. We fall silent for a few minutes before Dwalin elbows me.

“What?”

“You still didn’t tell me why you were looking at the man as if he were a piece of meat.” Dwalin says as he looks at me with a serious expression.

I pull my arm off Dwalin’s shoulders and lean forward on the wooden railing. I fight a wave of nausea as I look out at the water surrounding us the boat starting to rock as it leaves it anchored spot. “Dwalin, do I have to talk to you about the birds and bees? Wait do people here in Middle-Earth even call it that?”

“Lass! You’ve only just met him!” Dwalin manages to say shrilly.

I shrug, “Dwalin chill. I never said that I actually propositioned the man. I’m just saying that the thought is there and if the opportunity arises then why not? Bard is handsome, he isn’t royalty. I’m most likely never going to see him again.”

Dwalin stays quiet for a long moment before he curses, “But…whatifyougetinthefamilyway?”

“Sorry what was that? I couldn’t hear you past all that mumbling.” I tease mercilessly with a smile.

“I said what if you get in the family way.” Dwalin snaps at me which only makes me laugh out loud. “It’s a real concern! I have no idea how things were done back on your home world, but here in Middle-Earth things of that nature are taken seriously lass. What do you think Thorin will say if that were to happen?” Dwalin asks as he scrunches his nose up in disgust. “It’s even worse now with this Bard eying you. Has the man no shame, no respect for a woman in the honorable guard of Thorin Oakenshield?”

I laugh again before I fall quiet at the genuine concerned look on the gruff dwarfs face. “Dwalin,” I say while pulling him towards me, “this isn’t exactly the perfect timing to start something, and let’s not forget that I’m not even from the race of Men.” Not that it meant anything to me. I was human before being turned into a mutant, and then turned into whatever I am now. I’m pretty sure that half the people I’ve met have the same working plumbing equipment as I do. But Dwalin doesn’t need to know that. “I’m just saying that it’s nice to think about having someone to warm me even for a night, but I very much doubt that that will happen.”

“True,” Dwalin says before sending me a questioning look, “but will you regret it if it did happen?”

I look away from the water and look at Dwalin. “I don’t know. I can’t answer a hypothetical question, but I wanna say no. But then who knows you know?”

Dwalin sighs as he scratches his beard, “I’m not built for all this, but if anything happens know that I’ll be by your side lass.”

“Thanks Dwalin for giving me your support if I ever end up pregnant with Bard’s baby, after a night of nothing but relentless passion infused sex.” I smile brightly at Dwalin, who looks as if he’s eaten a lemon. I laugh and pull him into a tight hug that Dwalin takes as a challenge. He hugs me twice as hard and we release each other quickly and give each other back breaking slaps.

We both fall silent as we watch the scenery go by. I keep my eyes on the horizon, fighting the wave of wrongness of being off the ground, and drift into a daydream for the better part of the trip. It isn’t until Dwalin’s nudging my elbow that I wake up from my musings and see a daunting mountain in the distance. It’s even bigger up close.

“The Lonely Mountain.” Thorin said in wonder, his eyes lighting up.

Bard quickly tells Balin something about barrels and smuggling, I don’t really pay attention. I’m still staring at the mountain, not quite believing that it’s housing a dragon. A motherfucking dragon, somehow I keep on forgetting that little tidbit. Soon though, Dwalin’s pulling me to a barrel, man handling me inside despite my very loud protests, only to be smothered by fish. I gag, dry heaving since I haven’t eaten in days, and try and block out the overpowering smell of raw fish.

I take small measured breaths, the time creeping along slowly until I hear Bard haggling with someone. I hear loud splashing, loud voices followed by silence until suddenly I’m being pulled free of my fish prison.

“Apologies on that.” Bard says with a small grin.

I don’t say anything as I pull away in haste to throw up into the water that lines the walk-way that we’re on. I don’t have anything in my stomach, so the bile that’s rising up my throat is like hellfire. My hands are gripping the edge of the wooden walk-way as I tremble, the wood cracking with my strength. Good heaven help me. I stare at the water, seeing chunks of ice floating by until I find the strength to look up.

This must be Lake-town. Appropriate name considering the town was on the water, wooden walk-ways connecting the houses and one lone path leading to shore. I shake myself, taking in a deep breath of cold air, and pick myself up.

“This way.” Bard says as he leads us through impossibly small paths and behind houses. Soon enough we’re all cramped inside his house, some having to get smuggled in through unmentionable passages, Bard’s children staring at the dwarves with wide-eyed awe. Dwalin’s cursing and bad attitude doesn’t even faze these kids, not when Bofur’s there to wink and wiggle his hat for them. As Bard looks over the thirteen dwarves, and one hobbit, flooding his small living room/dining room/entrance room I notice a teenage girl waving her hand to catch my attention. I glance at her for a moment before looking back at Bard, who inclines his head to his daughter. I don’t put up that much of a fight, I’ve been surrounded by testosterone for so long that I’m jumping at the chance to be with female company even if it’s a teenage primeval girl.

The second I pull away from the company the teenage girl introduces herself. Sigrid has an air of no nonsense about her, a strong earnest face with her brown hair pulled serviceably back from her face. She’s layered up, a long sleeved heavy shirt under a thick vest and a full navy skirt that stopped just short of her ankles showcasing fur lined boots. The girl eyes the dwarves for a moment, her hazel eyes lit up with curiosity, before she ushers me away from the company and takes me to their now infamous bathroom. Inside the small place I notice that she’s got at least two inches on my five foot four frame, but with all her clothing and cramped space that has her slouching it gives off the impression that she’s short. Now with the space Sigrid straightens out her back and holds her head high in perfect imitation to how her father stands. The girl turns to me, lips twitching with excitement. “What’s it like traveling with dwarves?” The young girl asks with a whisper. I lean against the wall, watching the young girl fill up a tub with water to heat, wondering how best to describe the quest when a little girl rushes into the room.

“Did you ask her?” The little girl, who couldn’t be more then twelve, asked with an expectant look. She’s a mini Sigrid, but the difference between the two is that the little girl has blue eyes instead of hazel. She’s wearing a thick long sleeved white shirt under a blue dress that ends at her knees and high thick fur lined boots. She’s got dark hair pulled back into a braid but with wisps of hair curling lazily in the front framing her heart shaped face.

“Tilda.” Sigrid hisses to her little sister as her face flushes with embarrassment.

Grinning I shrug. “It’s…complicated. They’re dwarves so they have all these unspoken customs and they’re blunt to the point that borders on rude, but in a fight you’d never have a better ally. They’re headstrong and loyal, unwavering in the face of danger.”

“Fascinating,” Tilda whispers with delight, “and you’re a shieldmaiden! How did you become part of their journey? Have you killed anyone yet?”

“Tilda!” Sigrid says in shock before pulling the little girl back, “Don’t ask such questions.”

“Why? I know you want to know as well.” Tilda shoots back with an annoyed expression.

Sigrid sputters before opening her mouth to no doubt shut down her little sister but I wave my hand. “It’s okay, really I don’t mind. Actually it’s kinda nice talking to someone that isnt a dwarf.” I look at the tub and see that the water is barely starting to heat up. Ah the perks of being female, I get treated to a bath. “My liege lord asked me to join, to help the dwarves get to their home safe and sound. And yeah I’ve killed.”

“Is…is it hard? Killing someone?” Sigrid asks looking almost afraid of the answer if it wasn’t for the hard glint hidden almost perfectly behind innocence. I had noticed that there wasn’t a Mrs. Bard around, could explain why the teenager looked older than her years.

“Yes, but it’s either you or them.” I say, because the teen deserved the truth, just as the water starts to let out steam. 

“We’ll leave you then shieldmaiden.” Sigrid says quietly, pulling her younger sister who’s staring at me with an open mouth away.

As soon as the two sisters leave me alone, closing the door behind them, and I release a sigh. I look at the water, watching it as I undress, eager to get in to wash away the fish smell. Standing naked in the room, my skin prickles from the cold air of Lake-Town and the residual chill from my ‘swim’ in the river earlier. Walking to the tub I see a small step box and climb it to drop my sore body into the warm water. I soak, dunking my head to get my hair wet, and lazily washed my body with a sliver of soap. Watching the grime of weeks on the road wash off my pale skin I lean my head back, staring up at the wooden ceiling.

The Lonely Mountain.

It’s so close, the journey almost over and yet why do I feel as if shit was just getting started? As if everything that we’ve done so far has been warm-up practices to the real game? The metal rim of the tub rests warm against the nape of my neck, supporting my head as I stare unseeingly at the ceiling. My skin feels warm, clean, and my hair’s dripping water on the floor. I feel at peace here in this little bathroom, the noises from the house muffled and no one needing saving. Breathing in deeply I started scrubbing my hair, rubbing my scalp to wash away the oil build up, before dunking into the water to wash the soap way. I break the surface and decide to step out of the now murky water. The room’s cold, the walls barely keeping the cold out, so my skin starts to goose-bump immediately. I shiver as my hair drips what feels like ice water down my back. There’s no towel to rub myself dry, and I’m not about to stick my head out to ask for one this family has gone above and beyond in helping us.

I crouch down, at ease with my nudity, and go through my pack to pull out my brush and leather strap that I’ve been using to pull my hair up. Standing, my body gives a rough shudder at the cold that leaves me surprised. Jesus it’s cold here, no wonder Bard’s layered up. I brush my hair, fighting with the snarls and knots, until the comb slides through my hair with no resistance. I pulled it up in a high bun, not wanting the wet mass on my back. With my hair tied up and off my skin I crouch back down to rifle through my pack. Never have I been so grateful to Dori than this moment, it’s thanks to him badgering Thorin that we managed to stop at a small village and trade services in order to get me some clothes. I pull on fresh underwear, and forgo a wrap that’s this world’s version of a bra. I don’t pull on my sports bra because it’s so stiff with dirt instead I put it aside to wash it clean. I pull on layers of shirts, two pairs of socks, pants and my boots before rolling up my sleeves and wash my dirty clothes. Once finished I rinse them and hang them up to dry. I grab my armor and grin at its gleaming gold condition, clean as the first day when I dropped into Middle Earth. I clasp on my Tulkas’ gift. The weight of the armor is a comforting weight, having grown used it after months of being in this world.

Ready I walk out, and find everyone sitting and eating. I look around, seeing Thorin and Balin in deep conversation before noticing Sigrid signaling me. I give a small wave of acknowledgement before checking on the two brothers that are posted up in a corner. I can feel my face twisting into a grimace, my hands clenching as I see a shadow closing around Kíli. The archer must have sensed me watching him because it’s not a second after that his head rises and turns, his dark eyes connecting with mine. Kíli looks pale, washed out, without that spark of life that brightens a room. The archer looks away with a glare and I sigh. Don’t have to guess that that stubborn idiot hasn’t gone to Óin to get his leg checked out. Normally it’d be the Captain’s job to make sure that his team goes to medical, the Lieutenant making sure that the Cap’s orders were followed. But in this rag tag group I don’t know who to go to. Do I go to Thorin? Dwalin? Óin? Thorin looks more stressed than usual, his face lined with wrinkles and posture too rigid to be comfortable. Telling him about Kíli will probably set him off and most likely embarrass his nephew in front of the company. I want Kíli to get better, not have him curse me the fuck out for meddling in his business. Dwalin’s acting like a big baby because he had to come up through Bard’s toilet and Óin isnt exactly the image of discretion. I don’t know what to do to help the dwarf prince, but I gotta try. I signal Fíli who excuses himself and crosses the room. I tell him to make sure Kíli gets his leg checked out, I don’t tell him about the shadow no use in freaking him out. Fíli tells me he’ll make sure his brother gets checked out before going back to his food.

Duty done I walk away and spend the day in the company of the two girls.

 

 


	4. The Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I look toward the west and watch Lake-Town shadowed by the mountain. I’m reminded of what Bard had shouted out last night. 
> 
> If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short passage this time. 
> 
> Read, comment, enjoy!

**The Climb**

 

“Holy shit.” I whisper with my heart in my throat.

We had left Lake-Town, our packs heavy with supplies that Thorin managed to get us when he told the town who he was. Bard had tracked down a relic from when Erebor, a tapestry that outlined the Line of Durin. The man had been furious and fearful. He had told the townspeople and the so called Master of Lake-Town about the prophecy, about fire and ruin. I had thought that I was going to have to fight the mass of civilians until Thorin had promised to give Lake-Town its share of the treasure in return for help. The treasure of the ruined city of Dale, people were quick to change their tunes, especially the greedy fat man parading as Master with his creepy emo looking assistant sneering next to him.

So after the Master had brown nosed the fuck out of Thorin, Bard looking devastated as he watched the greed of the town, there was a party given in Thorin’s honor. The amount of food and ale was enough to completely satisfy my hunger, which hadn’t been filled since Rivendell. I had gone back to Bard’s house, the man almost not letting me in since finding out that I was guarding the dwarf that would ‘destroy’ Lake-Town but in the end he did; and that’s only because his daughters had begged him to let me in. I didn’t want to spend the night in the town hall with drunk Men or Dwarves. So there I was at his house, knocking on Bard’s door. He had opened the door and he looked so mad, body held taunt before he slowly relaxed his muscles and his somber expression came over him. He didn’t say anything about the journey, or Thorin, just bade me a good night and walked deeper into the house until a door was heard being closed. I felt bad for him, I did, but the mission needed to be completed. Thorin Oakenshield had to take back Erebor, Azog needed to die and none of that would happen if we turned back now. I didn’t tell him anything of that of course, Bard’s a civilian and as much as his help was appreciated, his hospitality even more so, his part in the mission was over.

The morning found us getting onto boats that would take us across the lake and onto shore. So here we are on shore, the mountain looming over us. The second my feet touched shore I expanded my sight to Erebor, and instantly the shape of the immense creature hidden inside pinged my sights. Smaug, the dragon was impossibly huge…how the hell did it get inside?

I’m frozen in place, the image of Smaug keeping me in place as my senses focus on the mountain. I barely hear Thorin command the company to head fast for the mountain, awestruck at the proof that there’s a fucking fire breathing dragon on this world. Holy fuck. I blink and see the dwarves and Bilbo start trekking towards the mountain, reminded that we’re four dwarves light. I look back at Lake-Town with a frown and a held back sigh.

Fíli stayed behind with his brother, Kíli too sick to travel. That stupid fucking dwarf had stubbornly ignored Fíli and me when we told him to get checked the fuck out. I don’t know if the archer was trying to prove his toughness to the company, or if Kíli really was that stupid, but he had worsened throughout the night. The shadow that I had spied surrounding him had strengthened it was as if it was sucking him dry. It had a weird feel about it a feel that I can only guess is magic. Óin had decided to stay behind, he was the medic of the company, and I had pulled him aside and told him about what I had seen. Óin for once didn’t yell at me to speak up, seeming to read my lips as I told him about the shadow and the vibe that I was getting. The old dwarf gave me a sharp nod and an even sharper pat on the back, promising me that he would do his best in getting the fool of a dwarf back to normal. Bofur was nowhere to be seen as we crowded the pier, and without the earth I couldn’t track him down. It wasn’t until Bombur spoke up, his voice deceptively light tone for his massive girth, that his brother was still asleep from drinking all night. Thorin’s lips had thinned in annoyance and had refused to wait for him or for Bombur to go get him. When Thorin had ordered Kíli to stay behind the hurt that flashed in the archer’s eyes was almost too painful to watch. I wasn’t surprised that Fíli stayed with him, the bond between them was strong.

To be honest I’m relieved that the brothers weren’t coming anywhere near the mountain, or Smaug, but on the other hand I’m worried about Kíli and his worsening wound. Gandalf should’ve been back from Dol Guldur, he would know what to do with the injury. That was another headache, the absence of Gandalf. Now that we’re so close to the Lonely Mountain Thorin won’t want to wait for the wizard to try and enter it. Speaking of, I hear Thorin yell my name and I roll my eyes in irritation. Thorin’s been acting more surly than usual, ordering everyone about, sounding less and less like a leader and more like an asshole. I resist saluting him sarcastically but do murmur ‘aye, aye Captain’ under my breath as I make my way to the front. The Dwarf King sets a harsh pace, wanting to reach the hidden stairs before sundown. By the time we reach the stairs many of the company are sweating, gulping water from the water skins that Lake-Town gave us. I rest my back against the mountain, still in awe of seeing the danger through my mutated sonar, and quietly watch as Thorin stares at the mountain with a too bright gleam in his eyes.

“We must climb, hurry there isnt time to waste.” Thorin orders as his eyes stay glued on the mountain.

I snort with dry humor. There’s no fucking way I’m climbing those stairs. I feel Thorin’s glare burn into my side, and I ignore it. I am not about to bend over and take his crap. This attitude he’s got going on is different than how he usually is. The company can take it if they want to but not me. I didn’t die and come back to life to put up with diva drama. So without offering anyone a ride I hold out my hands and make myself a sturdy platform. I push my platform up with a flare, a little bit too fast since I almost fall off from the force of the wind. I make it in no time to a cliff that has more than two feet of walking room. I touch down on the cliff and my platform melts back into the mountain. I walk over to look down to see Thorin looking like a fast moving small dot at the bottom of the cliff, no doubt cursing my name and having those killer eyes narrowed in magnificent anger. I briefly toy with the idea of propelling them forward to where I am, but decide against it. I want some time for myself to study the mountain without having Thorin’s eyes on me.

Besides who am I to deprive the Dwarf King and his people of this ancestral rite of passage?

I walk toward the mountain and place my hands on the rough exterior. I close my eyes and lean my forehead, resting it against the rock. I can see everything. The size of the city, the archways, the cities within the mountain, the dragon and most importantly I can see the hidden doorway. It’s so cleverly made that I can’t help but be impressed by the ingenuity of dwarves. It runs seamless to the mountain that there has to be magic involved. The keyhole itself is covered by a solid wall of stone and there’s no way anyone would be able to find it unless by the specific way that’s written on the map, or you know is me. I could make an opening into the wall, but I would be robbing the dwarves their heritage. The mission parameters are that **Thorin** reclaim Erebor, not me. With that affirmed in my mind I stay plastered to the mountain side, my sight combing over every inch of the immense mountain, particularly the dragon’s outline. I never thought that I would actually be able to see a dragon. This must have been how Harry Potter felt when he was about to begin the first task in the Triwizard Tournament, breathless, heart beating too fast, adrenaline pumping and stomach tight with anxiety. I stay glued to the mountain for hours, my sight taking in the craft of the dwarves before a footfall breaks my concentration.

“Do you see it?” Thorin asks in a hushed reverent tone.

“Yeah…it’s…it’s beyond words Thorin.” I say while keeping myself pressed against the rock.

“At long last, we’re here so close and yet so far.” Thorin says mostly to himself as he goes straight for the mountain. His hands shake as they touch the stone in worship, “Erebor.” The Dwarf King’s voice catches with emotion, but quickly the moment’s broken when the rest of the company lands on the cliff and the cold mask of a ruler takes over Thorin’s face.

“Look for the keyhole.” Thorin orders, his gentle words vanishing like the sinking sun.

I step away from the mountain wall as the dwarves crowded around it, hands grasping the rock trying to find a keyhole that’s hidden by magic. I stay quiet, not bothering to tell them since I know at this point they won’t listen to me. This is _their_ mountain; they won’t listen to an outsider about the best way to get into it. Bilbo comes to stand next to me, the two outsiders watching as the Dwarves of Erebor search the mountain wall frantically.

“Hurry, the light is dying.” Thorin calls out sharply, piercing through the air.

I look toward the west and watch Lake-Town shadowed by the mountain. I’m reminded of what Bard had shouted out last night.

_If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all!_

The dragon, the mountain, Lake-Town, Thorin, Azog…it’s all connected. There isnt any stopping this, no matter how much the memory of Bard’s stricken face strikes at me. The mission needs to be completed. Looking away, I wonder how for the Durin Princes are doing. For their sakes, and Thorin’s, I hope that Kíli gets better.


	5. A brief bittersweet interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel my heart break for my stupid little brother, my brother whose heart knows no bounds; my brother who fell impossibly in love with an elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili POV, because I love love love the scene between Kili and Tauriel. They are meant for each other and no one can tell me otherwise.

**A brief bittersweet interlude**

“Tauriel…?” Kíli gasped lowly as his eyes slowly opened.

I stood slumped by the wall with Óin, exhausted at having to fight for our lives against an orc ambush and then lifting my near dead brother on a table. I watch, my breaths coming with difficultly, as my baby brother called out for the she-elf that stood by the table now, her long fire colored hair draping down her back. I can see her beautiful face turn and lean down towards Kíli, whose skin looked so death-like. Tauriel was looking at my brother as if he was something precious, something to be treasured.

“Lie still.” Tauriel says to Kíli in a gentle voice that seemed to send out comforting waves.

I wanted to look away, wanted to give the two a private moment, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. I have never seen an elf behave towards a dwarf in this manner, likewise I have never seen my brother act towards anyone like he is at the moment; as if he needed to see Tauriel to continue on. I watch as Kíli looks unseeing to the ceiling, his body trembling with all the strain that it has been through, before he seemed to wake up. My brother looks up to Tauriel, his eyes alive with an emotion that makes my breath still in my lungs. The house is quiet, Óin and Bofur watching just as engrossed as I, so quiet that it seems as if the world itself is holding its breath in order to witness this moment.

“You cannot be her. She is far away. She…she is far, far away from me.” Kíli rasps out, his eyes searching Tauriel’s face as if he can’t quite believe that she is there with him. “She walks in starlight in another world.” Kíli says, his voice growing weaker as his eyes brighten with tears. “It was just a dream. Do you think she could have loved me?” He asks as his voice breaks with emotion, his eyes closing briefly in pain.

I feel my heart break for my stupid little brother, my brother whose heart knows no bounds; my brother who fell impossibly in love with an elf. I see Kíli open his eyes, a tear making its lone trek down his pale sickly face, and latch onto Tauriel’s face. The elf, I see as I look to her, is moved by Kíli’s confession and I have to restrain the urge to run to my brother and protect him from her rejection; for what else could she do but reject him? She is an Elf and Kíli a Dwarf. There is no possibility for them to be together.

I glance at Óin and see the healer looking at the impossible couple with a fondness that is startlingly. I look back to my brother, waiting for the moment to go to his side and give him my support when the unthinkable happens.

There on the table, his head supported by walnuts, Kíli is reaching out to the she-elf; his hand shaking with the effort. I watch breathlessly as Kíli watches Tauriel, waiting for her to make her move. It seems as if a lifetime passes in the seconds that Tauriel stares at Kíli with wide unbelieving eyes before her face sets into a soft expression that makes my stomach twist. I see her slender hand, a hand that I witnessed deliver swift death, reach out to meet Kíli’s, her fingers sliding against his skin before intertwining their fingers and clasping their hands together in a movement that seems oddly final.

I hear Óin gasp, and I finally drag in a breath but that apparently isn’t all. Tauriel seems to soak up the courage that Kíli has shown her with his love confession and leans down, her hair creating a curtain of fire around Kíli. The way Óin and I are standing gives us a vantage point to the poignant scene. We watch as Tauriel caresses my brother’s face with her free hand, her eyes impossibly soft and filled with the same heart stopping emotion that Kíli has in his own eyes, and presses her forehead to his.

“Yes.” Comes the soft answer. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I do love you; you crazy, stubborn, wonderful Dwarf.” Tauriel says with a smile that lights up her face. The she-elf closes the gap between them and presses her lips onto his, her eyes closing in joy.

I look away. I look to my fellow dwarfs and see them looking just as lost and captivated by what we just saw. I feel an incredulous smile break across my face, shaking my head at the turn of events. I look to Bofur and see him matching my smile and looking happier than I’ve ever seen him. Óin looks shocked and sheepish. “By Mahal’s grace, Kíli somehow always manages to get into such impossible situations.”

“Aye, but what life is worth living without love?” Bofur says as he glances back at the couple.

“True, but _this_?” Óin asks.

“She risked everything to follow us, to follow Kíli.” I say in defense. It is odd and fascinating at how the Captain of the Guard seemingly left her duties behind, left her Prince behind to stay with my brother. “She saved his life.”

“Aye that she did and it was an honor to witness such healing.” Óin says in the end with a deciding nod.

Bofur grins foolishly and looks as if he is the one currently kissing an Elf.

Just as suddenly my grin vanishes and I glance at the two at the table. Kíli is smiling with such abandon, his hand never leaving Tauriel’s as his other is slowly combing through fire colored hair. Oh Kíli, “Thorin.”

Óin and Bofur’s expression’s fall at the thought of how Thorin would react to this. Thorin tolerated elves at best, when he were to find out about Kíli loving an Elf and that that Elf loved him in return…I fear Thorin will react negatively.

“Kíli is a grown dwarf, he is free to love who he wants.” Bofur says, making his stance on this known.

Óin speaks after a moment of thinking, “He is not the Crown Prince. I don’t see how who he wants to love should become an issue to the kingdom.”

I look at them both before looking to my brother who has forgotten that there is anything else but the she-elf in the world. I am happy for him, all my life all I’ve ever wanted was for Kíli to be happy. Back in the Blue Mountains Kíli was looked down by most dwarfs because he had chosen the bow and arrow as his weapon, not to mention his lack of a beard. It took many dwarves being beaten bloody before they got the message that I, nor my uncle, would tolerate such behavior. Kíli was different since he was a small child, he loved climbing trees, being outside, being free and wild. His heart so open to everyone, ready to give love, that race didn’t bother him. It was no surprise truly that he fell for the Captain of the Guard. She is a strong female, deadly in combat and a good heart. Her hair, I would wager, was also a big part of why Kíli even noticed her.

I’m taken out of my thoughts by the hopeful look that Kíli is sending me. I see that Tauriel stands by him, her stance firm and ready to defend them both. I frown at her actions; did she really think that I would attack my brother? I look at them both and see how braced they are for rejection and feel my back straighten. “Finally, I was getting tired of seeing your forlorn lovesick face every time I turned around.”

Kíli sputters, his face gaining color from his embarrassment as Tauriel gives a short laugh. “I was not!”

“Tauriel he’s your problem now.” I say with warning as my heart grows warm at seeing the look of joy in my baby brothers face as Tauriel squeezes his hand and gives him a quick smile which she also throws in my direction. Kíli goes to say something in retort before an ear-splitting roar fills the air. The house shakes, and we all duck for cover as pieces of wood come off and crash to the floor.

“What is that?” I hear someone yell in question.

The house stops shaking and then a terrible voice echoes through the sky.

“I am fire…” The echoing voice roars with malicious, “…I am _death._ ”

I feel a chill unlike any other crawl up my spine as my skin prickles with fear.

Tauriel breaks the silence, her voice loud in the quiet of the house, “That is a dragon Tilda.”


	6. Here there be Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the company follows us in and it isn’t long before we catch up to the King. He’s standing before an archway, his hand on the stone with an awed disbelieving look. “It’s Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised that I'm almost done posting this entire story. It took me about a year and a half to write it all out, it's almost bittersweet to see it on here. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos! Read, comment and enjoy!!

**Here there be Dragons**

 

Thorin stands before the mountain, his face lax and his eyes unnervingly blank. It’s unsettling. Thorin looks like he’s lost the will to live, his hand barely touching the mountain. I scan the crowd to take note of their reactions. The majority looks sad, but only three actually _know_ that something is wrong with the Dwarf King. It’s in the way that Balin’s watching Thorin with wary eyes, Dwalin’s hands twitching with tension and Bilbo seeming to hold his breath waiting for our fearless leader to snap. Nobody moves…nobody makes a sound, until Bilbo clenches his jaw and slowly makes his way to the King. I hurry after the hobbit, what’s he thinking approaching Thorin right now? It’s like the hobbit wants to die of stupidity.

“Thorin…?” Bilbo calls softly.

“We missed our chance.” Thorin finally says after the sun sets. The Dwarf King slowly lets his hand fall to his side and turns to look at us. His eyes are fogged with crushing disappointment before he catches sight of me, “You.” Thorin stays quiet after that, staring at me as I wait for him to continue. The moment stretches on, infused with tension as I wait for Thorin to do something other than creep the hell out of me. “Open the mountain.” Thorin orders as he blinks hard, his hands clenching and unclenching with restrained violence. I watch him closely, waiting to see what he’ll do. His eyes slowly gain back their intensity, light breaking through the blank curtain that had shrouded them. Thorin purses his lips before relaxing them just a touch, his brows furrow deeply as he looks at me, “If we cannot use the key than you will open the mountain. We did not travel this far in vain.”

_That was what I had tried to say when we were at Rivendell_ , I want to say but I don’t think Thorin’s already strained mental psychic can handle any sass right now. So I keep my mouth shut like a good little soldier. I give him a nod of acknowledgement of the order and see Thorin gain back his composure. I crack my neck, releasing some tension, and approach the mountain with raised hands, just before I’m about to make an opening Bilbo murmurs before he gasps and shouts out to us.

“Look! The moonlight, the last dying rays of Durin’s Day! It wasn’t about sunlight but moonlight!” Bilbo says excitedly as he waves the key that Thorin had thrown in anger.

Thorin’s intense stare down at my back is broken as he nearly breaks his neck turning to look at the bouncing hobbit. Thorin wastes no time in approaching Bilbo and snatches the key out of the hobbit’s hand, the dwarf then turns to watch as the light of Durin’s Day illuminates the mountain and causes the keyhole to glow. I step back, seeing the almost vulnerable look on the Kings face, and give Thorin space to make his dream come true. Thorin steps closer to the mountain his gait revenant as he stops in front of the key hole and gently pushes the key in and turns. At first nothing happens, Thorin’s shoulders hunching up with disappointment but then a small puff of air has the Dwarf King stepping back in wonder. There’s a sound of stone moving and the light that had showed the key hole expands, outlining a door that pushes out of the mountain. The door slowly opens and I watch as Thorin closes his eyes and gives a small unguarded smile, “Finally.” Just as quickly the expression is hidden as Thorin turns to look at the company with a fierce triumphant air, “Everything that we have survived has led us to this point…to reclaim our homeland.” Thorin declares regally before turning and venturing inside.

I follow him, because Thorin has the tendency to throw safety away like a dirty napkin. Just because we actually made it to Erebor doesn’t mean that the mission is over, there’s still a freaking dragon inside! There’s no way that Thorin nothing-fazes-me Oakenshield is going in there alone. The rest of the company follows us in and it isn’t long before we catch up to the King. He’s standing before an archway, his hand on the stone with an awed disbelieving look. “It’s Erebor.”

Balin slowly makes his way to the King, his eyes bright with tears, “Thorin.” Just the name, but so many unsaid words and emotions are packed into that name.

I like to think that that’s how Marcus and I would sound if I had survived back on my home planet, going back to Chattanooga and rebuilding our home together. I blink back tears and watch as Thorin lays both hands on the mountain wall.

Thorin caresses the stone as his eyes brighten with emotion and his voice wavers with nostalgia, “I know these walls…these halls…this stone. Do you remember it Balin? Chambers filled with golden light?” Thorin gives a weak smile as his hands grips tightly onto the stone.

“I remember.” Balin manages to say with a thick voice.

Glóin’s voice ripples through the air with wonder and pride, “Herein lies the seventh kingdom of Durin’s folk. May the heart of the mountain unite all dwarves in defense of this home.”

“The Throne of the King.” Balin adds as he looks to the archway.

Bilbo manages to squeeze himself next to me and glance up at the carving. “What’s that, above it?”

“The Arkenstone.” Balin replies with a sigh.

Bilbo nods before sending Balin a dry look, “And what’s that?”

“That, Master Burglar, is why you are here.” Thorin says as he motions the hobbit away from us.

Balin and I are left at the front of the group, waiting in suspense before Thorin comes back minus a hobbit.

I don’t ask where the hobbit is, I can still see him through the stone making his way deeper into the mountain to where the dragon is. “Why is Bilbo going down there alone? There’s a fucking dragon down there.” And also I can’t help but feel offended that I’m being benched, I want to see a damn dragon. When else am I going to get a chance like this?

“Bilbo is fulfilling his part of the contract.” Thorin says to me as he raises a snobbish brow, his tone aloof. “It is no concern of yours.”

I don’t say anything as I lean against the stone with a belying casualness. Thorin stares at me, his eyes daring me to say something smart but I keep my mouth shut. If he has faith that Bilbo, the four foot high hobbit, can face down a dragon…well who am I to say otherwise? I can wait until he takes his arrogant head out of his ass when Bilbo calls for reinforcements. And he will, Bilbo will need help; because even though he has proved himself a crafty little thing, no one can go up against a dragon alone; point in case, the Golden Trio had to work with a goblin to get past the dragon in Gringotts. And they had magic! Bilbo only has his impeccable manners and his creepy little invisible trick! I’ll keep an eye on him…because I really really want to see a dragon…and to make sure the hobbit survives…obviously.

We all stay there in the cramped hallway before we venture back out, the weird smell in the hallway becoming too much for us. I don’t know how long we stay out there on the cliff side, waiting for Bilbo to give us the all clear but I’m getting antsy. Eventually a huge gust of stank hot air comes out from the open doorway and makes me gag, “The fuck is that smell?”

“Smaug.” Thorin answers in a deep dark voice, his eyes narrowing in hate.

“We must help Bilbo.” Balin says as he nears the entrance to the mountain.

“The burglar is doing his part; we wait for him to return.” Thorin tells Balin, the order to stop clear.

Balin stops but only to turn and look at Thorin with wide eyes. “Burglar,” Balin says in shock at the detachment in Thorin’s voice, “his name is Bilbo.” Balin says with a narrowed gaze as his forehead starts to furrow in anger. “Thorin, he is part of this company…he is our friend. You would stay out here instead of going to his aid?”

“I will not risk this quest, risk Erebor, over the life of one measly burglar.” Thorin retorts sharply, his head slowly turning like a predator that has caught the scent of fresh blood in the air. The Dwarf King’s eyes burn bright in the darkness, his face thrown in shadow giving him a manic appearance. “You are afraid.” Thorin says his words heavily laced with insult.

Balin shakes his head in disbelief and distress, “Yes! Yes, I'm afraid! I fear for YOU, Thorin. A sickness lies on that treasure, a sickness that drove your grandfather mad! You are not yourself Thorin. The Thorin I know would never hesitate to go to his allies aid!”

Thorin stares at the white haired dwarf from the corner of his eye, his head cocked to the side before in one swift movement he closes the gap between them. Thorin towers over Balin, his broad shoulders tense with threat and face hidden in darkness. Balin, the crazy bastard, doesn’t even flinch at the insane fast movement that puts his King up in his face. Balin stands tall and doesn’t look away from the King, his dark eyes hard as he looks up at Thorin.

I curse along with Dwalin at the very real threat of violence as the company rushes to the two dwarves. I firm my stance and quickly swipe my foot to the side, pushing the ground beneath the two dwarf’s feet. The two don’t even unbalance as I put space between them.

“I am not my grandfather.” Thorin says in a quiet deadly voice, his eyes burning with anger.

I look at the hard expression that Balin’s sporting before looking to Thorin, who’s staring back with a look that has the hair on my neck rising in trepidation. Thorin looks like he won’t hesitate to raise his sword and do damage to anyone who opposes him, even if it that person is a dwarf who’s always had his back in everything. Is this what Tulkas was speaking about, the gold sickness? I suddenly understand _why_ Tulkas sent me to protect the Line of Durin. It wasn’t to protect the Line from outside forces, but from itself. How many times have I witnessed the sheer stubbornness that Thorin is capable of? No force would be able to move him, but that same stubbornness would destroy him and his people. Now more than ever I see that Thorin, if left to his own devices would isolate himself from allies and wreak havoc. He’d never accept change, never accept elven help, and probably never extend his own help to others. The fact that Thorin’s already acting strange…it’s worrying because he isn’t even near the treasure! How far does this sickness go…how far can it go?

Another gust of rank air rushes out the entrance and seems to snap Thorin out of his strange demented haze. He blinks hard, his face twitching for a fast second, and stares at Balin for one long moment before quickly turning away and stepping into the mountain.

The company and I are left standing with our muscles tense and our eyes wide. I look to the old warrior, “Balin?”

The old dwarf turns to me with a tired look, “The Line of Durin has been plagued with gold sickness for a long time. I fear for our King. You were sent to protect the Line of Durin, protect Thorin…even from himself.” Balin tells me with beseeching eyes.

I nod, silently giving him my vow, and watch as Balin makes way after Thorin, the rest of the company following after as they always have. I stand there on the cliff, needing a moment to myself, and tip my head back to look at the dark star filled sky. “Tulkas…I need your help. How am I supposed to fight this sickness? How am I to protect Thorin from his own mind?” I stand there in the quiet night, the soft breeze blowing away the remnants of dragon breath, as nothing but the sound of wind and cicadas reach me. I rub my face tiredly, not surprised that I didn’t hear anything. It seems that I have to be a big girl and figure this shit out myself, still it would have been nice to have at least a damn hint. As I step into the mountain my skin prickles and I turn to look behind me. There’s nothing there but air but suddenly a warmness starts to come from my armor. I can see it start shining brightly, the glow that has become normal to me rapidly illuminating the cliff side. I grin and look to the sky, “Thanks.” I turn, filled with confidence that I can do this, the warmth of Tulkas support centering me. If an all-powerful being believes that I can pull this off then I better step up my own damn game. Oorah! I put my game face on and walk into the mountain, feeling utterly in control surrounded by my element. I make my way to the dwarves and see that they have reached Bilbo already. The company’s crouched down by a pillar, their eyes trained towards the open space across the way. I catch Thorin’s eye and see that for now the sickness has left him, his ice blue eyes clear. “What’s the situation?”

“Smaug is-” Thorin starts before he’s interrupted by an impossibly loud cultured voice.

“I know this smell, oh but I know this smell.”

What the…?

“Very clever Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror… _Not_ King under the Mountain; sending in a barrel rider to try and steal the Arkenstone from me.” The dragon says amused, the creature’s smooth voice sounding impossibly proper and sinister. “But sadly,” the dragon says not sounding sad at all but full of glee, “not clever enough; but that isnt surprising, you and your Line aren’t enough of anything, not even being able to keep your mountain.”

The dragon can fucking talk?! This is beyond Harry Potter. How is the dragon able to speak? I’m pulled out of my musings by the dragon’s oddly refined voice echoing throughout the empty city.

“…What’s this?” The great beast’s voice echoes, sounding confused. “I thought that the Valar had left these lands, and yet the smell is here…just who is with you Thorin Oakenshield?!” Smaug asks, his voice deepening into a roar.

Fear, I can hear it in the dragons’ voice. I watch through the mountain as the dragon twists and weaves his way throughout the hall, the memory of Tulkas telling me of said dragon’s role in the War of Wrath resonating within me.

_Smaug, a fire drake from the north, was young and weak when we of the Valar came to fight against Melkor. The fire worm managed to escape and grew to maturity._

This dragon has one hell of a nose. It has a similar sensing technique that I do, except where I can sense an individual’s nature the dragon can sense an individual’s race. There’s no way that any of the dwarves or even the hobbit will be able to fight against it, not if what Bard and Thorin said about the story is true. They’d need a black arrow and I don’t see any of those and a wind lance lying about. They’re out of their league…but that’s okay because that’s where I come in. I can fight against the dragon.

I nudge Thorin and wait for him to lean into me so that I can speak to him. “Thorin, I wasn’t chosen by Tulkas for shits and giggles. I got this.” I whisper as I crack my knuckles, my armor giving out a pulse of shine to add a touch of badassery. “You need to make sure that you’re out of the way when we fight.”

Thorin gives me an impressed look. I think he forgot that I’m not actually from Middle-Earth; forgot that I’m something never seen in this world since the First Age. Thorin gives me a kingly nod and we both turn to look out into the darkened city of Erebor, waiting to see what the dragon would do next so that we could start moving.

“Let me see…” The sound of a deep inhale resounds throughout the mountain, seeming as if Smaug is surrounding every inch of me.

I look up to see a vast red underbelly. My breath catches in my throat, eyes widening and heart beating almost too fast. There’s a dragon, an actual fire breathing dragon, right above me. Smaug lazily lets out a rumble, the vibration so powerful that I feel it in my bones. The heat that’s coming off of him is incredible, like an oven that’s primed for baking. My armor begins to increase its glow, the shine brightening my surrounding area. I feel my own impressive power surge through my body, adrenaline starting to pump with anticipation for the fight between us. The Valar have graced me, Tulkas has faith in me and Thorin trusts me…I can do this. I straighten out from my crouched position, armor brightening with every second as the call to battle races through me. I look back and see that Thorin looks encouraged, his eyes practically gleaming as he too stands tall.

“This particular scent, I shan’t ever forget for I was there…at the time of the War of the Wrath when the host of Valar descended onto Middle-Earth to fight against the Dark Lord.” Smaug says in a storytelling tone. “I still remember how my brother, Ancalagon, drove back the host, his fire rendering their offense to ashes. Oh I remember that battle, how we fire-drakes burned the very air and drove fear into the heart of Men and Elves alike.” Smaug crones out in delight the empty corridors amplifying his voice.

“Is there a point to all this drivel, or do you simply enjoy the sound of your own voice?” Thorin sneers as he motions for the company to keep moving, away from the dragon’s sight.

Smaug growls dark and menacing. “The point, _dwarf_ , is that it matters not who you have brought on this folly of a quest, not even with the Champion of the Valar will help you retake this mountain.” Smaug hisses in anger.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I call out as I walk ahead of the company, drawing the dragon’s attention solely on me, “Smaug. I can’t help but point out a couple of things wrong with your little story. First, that you’re including yourself with the fire-drakes that fought in that war; we both know that you hid away like a coward until the fighting was done. Second, that you think that I’m the Champion of the Valar and that you can actually beat him; I’m not and you can’t. I’m the Champion of Durin’s Folk, of Middle-Earth itself. And lastly,” I say as I finally come face to face with Smaug, “that we won’t be retaking this mountain.” I stare into golden reptilian eyes, streaked with red and slit thin with rage. Smaug’s a sight to behold. Almost the size of a skyscraper, sleek with pure muscle covered in impenetrable scales. His muzzle opened wide, revealing deadly sharp teeth, to snarl at me. He’s deadly grace and beautiful. Even if he’s evil, there’s beauty in his terror. It takes everything I got to keep my jaw shut and not hanging open like an idiot. Smaug the Terrible is amazing, with his dark red scales that are almost black towards the tips, spikes scattered throughout his massive body. His eyes though, I’ve never seen such eyes. Bright gold, like the treasure he hoards, flecked with red and a supernatural shine that makes me think of fire. They glow in the darkness, and right now they’re narrowing at the sight of me.

“You may not be a Vala, but you stink of one.” The dragon drawls out as he lowers his massive head, eyes narrowing dangerously as he catches sight of my armor. “That symbol, I recognize it.”

“Tulkas the Strong.” I tell the fire-drake as my armor pulses with light.

“Tulkas, yes I remember him.” Smaug hisses in controlled anger. “It took the entire host of Valinor and then some to defeat the fire-drakes, regardless if I wasn’t in that battle or not, what makes you so certain that you will be able to contend with me?”

“Because Smaug,” I can’t help but say while cocking my hip to the side in a display of attitude, “we two are part of a very small group that has power equal to the days of the First Age. I’m not from the race of Men, Elves, Dwarves or anything else in this world; I come from a world that you will never know and that, Smaug, makes me the only thing that can stand against you.” I settle into a battle ready stance, grinning at the dragon. “I think you’ve out stayed your welcome… _worm_.”

Smaug flinches back, shocked before his face scrunches up in a terrifying image. He lets loose a horrifying roar before a bright red light starts at his underbelly, racing to his chest and throat. Don’t have to be a genius to know what that means. I swipe my feet and send the company behind a wall before opening a hole in the ground, falling in and closing it seconds before dragon fire rains down. I push through the earth, tunneling my way under his underbelly, trying to outrun the heat from his fire. The ground’s steaming, creating a suffocating sauna in my tunnel. Sweat prickles my face but I ignore it as I urge the ground beneath me to push me upwards. I create a man hole and put on a power boost to propel me through the air. Smaug thankfully has stopped his rain of fire and doesn’t notice yet that I’m not a burnt corpse, which makes this that much more satisfying. I’m flying for a few moments before pulling back my arm and punching at his underbelly with every bit of strength that I got.

My fist hits his belly with a resounding clash that reminds me of a thunderstorm. His scales here are a lighter color, but that apparently doesn’t mean that it’s a weak spot. His stomach’s like punching an iron door. Smaug must have felt it regardless because he gives out a pained wail that covers up my grunt of pain. Gravity soon pulls me back down, and I watch as the great beast topples to the side before catching himself with his clawed paws. I shake my fist, trying to shake off the pain.

“You dare!” Smaug roars, his serpentine neck curving to look at me. His hot breath is putrid steam, his face illuminated with my golden armor glow. He snaps his jaw once and smirks, eyes narrowing in calculated malice. “Very well, Champion of Middle-Earth, you want to stand against me?” Smaug says in a dark teasing tone before letting out a refined spine stiffening laugh. “I’ll show you just why I am Smaug the Golden; I’ll burn your bones and that hideous armor for all to see what folly it is to go against me!”

During his speech I had crouched down to see if what Bard’s son had told us about Girion in righteous anger was true. My whoop of joy is masked by the dragons roar. There on the dragon’s chest is a loosed scale, oh Bard if only he could see this. I don’t have time to think any more than that since Smaug is whipping his thick powerful tail in my direction. “Alright, let’s do this.” I murmur to myself as I stand from my crouch and break into a sprint towards his incoming tail. I jump with a little boost from the earth, and have a heart stopping moment where I almost jump over the dragon’s tail before gripping onto his rough scales. I take a moment, or two or three, to just breathe before looking around. Thorin and the company are watching me with open mouths. “What are you doing!? Move your asses!” I scream wildly before pushing myself up and run up Smaug’s tail. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” I mutter madly as I try to keep my balance on the ever moving scaly tail. I can hear Smaug’s growl before his head is turning to look behind him. He must feel me on him. I run, avoiding a swipe of a claw, and manage to make it on his back. Lethal spikes line his spine and I focus on that, an idea flashing through my mind.

“Just what do you think you can accomplish by running up my back?” Smaug asks in a disturbingly polite manner seconds before he sends his tail sailing over.

I dive and slam into a spike to avoid a tail swipe. My breath leaves my lungs in a rush it’s like tackling a stone pillar, but I don’t let up my grip. I wait for his tail to draw back, watching it as it slithers back to the ground but realize that I didn’t gauge the distance correctly. I’m still in its path. Cursing I look to see if I can make it to the next spike but I don’t move fast enough. I get clipped by the very tip of his tail. I cry out in pain, the force behind that incomplete swipe packing the same power as when I crashed through trees and into Middle-Earth. I punch the base of the spike in anger and pain, hearing Smaug grunt in surprise; I take the pain that I’m feeling and channel it into slamming blows to the spikes base.

Smaug lets out a shriek of pain, his back arching and limbs twitching. “Stop it!”

I must have kicked at the edge of it for what feels like ages, hell-bent on taking it off, before I hear a loud crack followed by an ear-splitting howl. I scream in frustrated determination, kicking and pulling at the crack I made. My limbs hurt from the effort of tearing off the hardened spike but I push past the pain.

“I will kill you for this!” Smaug promises through a pained bellow. His limbs shake before losing their grip, sending him face first into his hoard of gold. The chime of the clash hurts my ears, a spray of treasure rising up like a wave and hitting me. The gold hits me with the force of punch but I ignore it.

I let out a long scream, echoing Smaug’s, until our voices combine into one big great crescendo. My arms are cramping with strain but finally the spike breaks off and I’m flying backwards. The loosened spike skids against the dragons back, scratching against his scales causing more damage. I crash onto Smaug’s back before the force of it bounces me off him. I scream, the feeling of falling not a pleasant one, and see Smaug jerking in agony. I manage to twist in mid fall and reach out to the earth in an attempt to soften my crash.

I have never been able to properly command the earth while disconnected to it. Back on Earth the army didn’t place a great importance on it since I was assigned to the ground forces. Would have really been an asset now, damn my hindsight. “Please let this work!” I grunt out, the glow of my armor blinding me as I splay my palms wide and pray that I don’t become a splatter.

I watch as the ground rushes up to me, the screams of an injured dragon as background noise. I feel a weak pull and pounce on it with all my focus. I pull and watch with unbridled relief as the earth answers my call. I bend my knees and landed rough on my pillar of rock, chest heaving with my erratic breathing. My limbs are trembling with adrenaline and I slap myself to get my shit under control. I measure out my breathing and slowly stand to my full height. I watch as Smaug stands shakily and turns his head predatorily to me. The hate in his eyes centers me oddly. I feel déjà vu, battling for my life intimately familiar to me after thirteen years of it back on Earth.

“You will come to regret that Maia.” Smaug hisses through clenched teeth.

I hear the title and feel a buzz of power rising within me. So, that’s what I am here in Middle-Earth, a Maia. What’d Radagast say about them? Oh yeah, they’re a spirit sent to Arda to help the Valar shape the world. I lift my head in defiance, “Doubt it. Now are you going to keep on whining about being in a fight or what?”

Smaug breathes out a cloud of steam as he snarls. His body stills just before he lunges at me, his jaw open wide to reveal rows of lethal fangs.

I’m already moving my pillar, the rock twisting at with a twitch of my fingertips. We twirl and move against the other for an unmeasured amount time before I hear Thorin shout for me. I pull up thick hulking towers of stone and swing them as in an extension of my fists. I send the tower of rock in a hard right hook before following up with a left undercut, Smaug stumbling back with a grunt. I stay long enough to see him crash into the ground, the mountain quaking dangerously, before moving my platform to where Thorin is peeking out behind a wall.

Thorin has led the company into a chamber, his face looking haunted. He tells me quickly that there had been an exit here, before Smaug, but the way was shut. I step off my platform and follow him. I see the rest of the company looking mournful and barely mange to avoid slamming into Thorin as he stops in his tracks. I let my eyes look ahead and press my mouth into a thin line. There on the floor are countless bodies of Ereborian citizens. I look at the frozen bodies of Dwarf men, women and children. Dust has collected over their corpses, the air stale with death and emptiness. I had known that Smaug was the cause of countless deaths, but to see the physical evidence was gut-wrenching.

Balin came to stand next to me, my ever present glow throwing his weathered face in stark relief. “The last of our kin,” he says with immense sadness, “they must have come here, hoping beyond hope.” Balin falls silent for a beat before turning to look at Thorin, “We could make for the mines, might last a few days.”

I watch my comrades, because after months of fighting for our lives they sure as hell are my team, feeling awful for them before I hear Smaug cursing loudly. Surprised I turn to look in his direction, looks like Smaug had had enough of politeness. I turn to look back at the corridor of death, thinking. I can make an opening have the dwarves and hobbit escape while leaving Smaug and myself locked within the mountain. The mountain is already reclaimed, with or without the Arkenstone, all that is left is to defeat the dragon; something that Thorin cannot do. I turn to tell Thorin this when I see him closing his eyes against Smaug’s curses. He clenches his fists and jaw so hard that he shakes. I see the moment when Thorin decides to do something reckless.

He opens his eyes, the blue glowing like a bright flame, and stares at the corpses of his people. Thorin stays that way for a second before whirling around in anger, his eyes burn coldly with rage, “No. I will not die like this cowering, clawing for breath. We make for the forges.” He commands with a single-minded determination that always impresses me. A fresh rush of admiration flows through me at Thorin’s will to fight. I keep my suggestion to myself and wait to see what Thorin has planned.

“He’ll see us, sure as death.” Dwalin, who comes up behind me, makes a point to say.

Thorin considers that before shaking his head, “Not if we split up.”

“In all the movies I’ve seen splitting up is never a good idea.” I say just to make Thorin think through what he’s asking his people to do. I don’t underestimate the company’s loyalty to Thorin, but Thorin needs to really think about this before giving the okay. I know that the company would gladly die for Thorin but that doesn’t make it okay for Thorin to rush into this with no caution.

“Thorin we’ll never make it.” Balin adds just to say even though he’s already bending his knees to make a run for it.

Thorin looks at us and grins, “Some of us might. Lead him to the forges.” Thorin says with finality. “We kill the dragon. If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together.”

Why did I ever think that Thorin would be happy with me, and not him, killing Smaug? This fight is beyond personal to him, this is just like Azog back at the Misty Mountains. I stare at Thorin, shocked laughter bubbling out my throat. The dwarf is mad, but damned if I wouldn’t follow to the very depths of hell. We split up in small groups; it’s left unsaid that I go with Thorin for obvious reasons, while Dwalin sets off with Nori and Bifur. Balin pairs up with Bombur, and the remaining Ri brothers team-up. Bilbo ends up with Thorin and me. With the groups decided the mountain becomes silent of any sounds from Smaug as we make our way out of the death chamber. I can see that Smaug’s standing still, no doubt trying to sense where we are. Thorin looks at the company before taking off in a run. That signals the rest, and soon we’re all running about everywhere, confusing the dragon into the direction Thorin wants him to go to. I push stone when I can, Smaug stumbling and growling in confusion. It’s understandable, the confusion; up until recently it was a battle between him and me, but Thorin’s running the show now.

We finally make it to the forges, but encounter a slight problem.

“The plans not going to work,” Dwalin snarls, “the burners are stone-cold.”

“He’s right. We’ve no fire hot enough to set them ablaze.” Balin says as we all reunite in front of an unlit forge.

Thorin glances behind him, an idea making his eyes glow in the darkness. “Have we not.” Thorin strides to the arches that line the entrance to the forges, his hands clasping the gates before he leans forward with a mocking glare. “I did not think to see you so easily outwitted. You have grown slow and fat in your dotage… _slug_.” Thorin purrs the slur to the dragon that’s making his way to us. Smaug narrows his eyes in offended rage before putting on a burst of speed and runs to the forges. Thorin smirks in dark delight.

“Well that’s one way in getting his attention.” I can’t help but say sarcastically as Thorin tells us to take cover. I run and crash into stone pillar, putting my back against it as I see the growing red glow forming in Smaug’s chest. I barely have time to breathe before fire is burning the very air around me. The air waves with heat and my skin feels like its’ being scorched. I close my eyes before I lose them, the heat almost searing them and wait for this hellfire to end.

Soon the fire dies out and I feel it safe enough to open my eyes, the forges remain unlit before a loud clanking breaks the silence. I watch with bated breath as a small explosion of heat raises clouds of smoke from one forge and another until suddenly the forges begin lighting up. I grin and throw an appreciative look to Thorin who responds with an impish smile.

The Dwarf King wastes no time in bellowing an order to Bombur to work the paddles, making sure that the fire keeps on burning. Bombur, the glorious steadfast dwarf, wastes no time in taking off at his impressive sprint and jumping across the rift to where the paddles are. Thorin looks to Bilbo and pulls him forward. Thorin walks with him as he tells the hobbit to go to where a stone statue of a dwarf is carved into the mountain. I see that inside the carving is a passage way that leads out of the mountain.

“On my mark pull the lever.”

I hear Thorin say to Bilbo before my attention is grabbed by the dragon currently trying to make its way into the forges. I’m still fascinated by how strong Smaug is, his red scaled claws digging trenches into the hard stone.

“Balin,” Thorin calls out as he turns to look at Smaug with a calculating gaze, “can you still make flash flame?”

Balin nods as he walks backwards, his eyes on the dragon, calling the Ri brothers to him. “Aye, it’ll only take a jiffy.”

A great roar rips through the air, making us take a step back in fear.

“We don’t have a jiffy.” Dwalin says as he looks at the great fire-drake with a heavy amount of caution.

“Okay,” I interrupt, “we need to stall him right? For whatever the fuck you’re planning?” Thorin turns to me, his dark locks matted to his face from the heat and sweat. His eyes are asking me if I can do that. I shrug, my ribs giving a twinge of fire from where Smaug clipped me. I ignore it and nod to Thorin, “I can do it. You do whatever it is that you’re planning on doing…quickly.” I say as I crack my neck, releasing tension. “If Harry Potter can best a dragon twice then so I can.”

Thorin gives me a confused look, “Harry Potter?”

I don’t stay to explain the phenomenon that is the world of Harry Potter; that would take more than one day to dedicate time to each and every unique character, time that we don’t have. I stride forward, leaving Thorin and the company, and raise my head in defiance. “Smaug!”

The dragon stops his battering on the gate that guards the forges and lowers his huge head to look at me. Smaug sniffs in distaste before drawing himself up, his upper lip curling in disgust revealing rows of fangs. “Your impudence truly knows no bounds, filthy little mole-rat.”

My steps falter sharply before I slow to a stop. The insult filters through and makes itself at home within my mind. He called me a mole-rat. I have never been insulted for my mutation, never been singled out and subjected to hateful taunts. The Toads were more focused on eradicating our very existence on Earth rather than trash talking.

But to be called a mole-rat…

A mole-rat.

_Mole-rat_.

The rush of my blood blocks out the surrounding noise. I stare ahead, eyes connecting with reptilian eyes and I see the second when Smaug knows he had gotten under my skin. I see those golden eyes light up with malicious glee, his mouth widening in a deranged smile.

I watch as Smaug’s body shakes with laughter. Smaug cocks his head arrogantly, “Did you think I did not know that this day would come? That a pack of canting dwarves would come crawling back to the mountain? Oh I knew…I knew and I lay in wait for this moment to come. I have waited for the day when Oakenshield would come in, bravely trying to reclaim what has been lost, and destroying him and his people. This mountain is **mine**! I will not part with one single coin!” Smaug starts unnervingly polite, his smooth voice sending chills down my spine before falling into a roar. “There is no way that you can defeat me! My teeth are swords, my claws spears and my wings hurricanes! Why, pray tell, did you ever think that this journey could end other than death?”

“You’re right.” I say, shaking my head from my stupor. “This journey will end in death…but yours you giant lizard!” I yell. “You don’t know just how much I’m going to laugh over your rotting corpse. When history is written I’ll make sure that they write about the tale of Smaug the Pathetic. I’ll brag about how you started out as a worthless worm and died just as worthless. I swear to you, oh Smaug the Useless, that no one will ever forget how inferior you are in every way to the great fire-drakes of old!” I shout, my anger mounting with every word. I can feel my shoulders hunching up, forehead burrowed deep in a scowl, and my armor glaring with golden light. “You think you can fucking insult me and get away with it!?” I laugh callously, head thrown back with the force of it. I lower my head and look menacingly to the equally menacingly looking dragon. “Think again.”

“I am going to crush you like the trivial mole-rat that you are.” Smaug promises darkly as his chest starts to glow ominously.

I respond by forming two deadly stone spears and send them soaring to the dragon’s face. Dragon’s eyes are the weak point, Harry Potter taught me that.

Smaug’s forced back, his eyes slamming protectively closed as he breathes an aborted flame. He moves his immense form with remarkable agility, his body twisting snake-like away from me. I push the spears to follow him, the stone twirling around pillars.

“You won’t injure me with just stone! My scales are iron, no blade can pierce me!” Smaug yells at me before my stone spear knocks into his shoulder, knocking the beast into the mountain wall. The dragon grunts before his head turns to me, chest glowing again.

I don’t let up. I create hundreds of stone spears and send them to pound on the dragon. I don’t focus on his eyes, remembering that I’m supposed to keep him occupied for Thorin. I watch as the dragon tries to move and fail, laughing at the image he makes.

“You dare mock me?” Smaug growls in a terrible voice, his head lowering and chest glowing.

My laughter grows as I watch Smaug push against my stone spears and rush at me, adrenaline high making me fall into a berserker trance. I’m pumped up, mad as fuck and wanting to rip Smaug limb from limb. I raise my arms, not registering the tremor, and am about to send another wave of spears before Thorin yells my name sharply. I jerk around to look at him, feeling like I have a swarm of bees buzzing about in my bloodstream, and see him hailing me to run back to him. I break out in a run, my legs feeling like they have liquid fire for blood, and veer sharply to the left hurtling behind the forges. I hear a great crash of stone and metal crushing as Smaug follows after me.

“Now Balin!” Thorin shouts.

I see Balin and the brothers Ri throw small black pots that explode on impact. The discharge is blinding white. Flash flame? More like flash bomb. I feel Thorin grab my arm and I twitch violently as he hauls me up. His grip on my arm tightens painfully as he leans into me. With his taking up so much of my space I become self-aware and feel my frenzied grin and hear myself laugh. I’d been laughing the whole time. I’m still laughing and shaking slightly from the high.

“Get on your feet unless you want to become dragon feed.” Thorin hisses at me before he pulls me with him, running away from Smaug. “Bilbo! Now!” Thorin shouts as he let go of my arm.

I crouch down and push the stone beneath us to shoot forward, Thorin firming his stance and bending his knees, away from the conflict to where Balin is. The moment I stop and flatten the stone back to the ground, Thorin rushes off to climb an iron chain. Balin sticks close to me, as the rest of the dwarves run to their positions.

“Lead him to the Hall of Kings!” Thorin shouts to us, his voice barely being heard over the roar of water that Bilbo let loose, pained growls and steam.

I see through the earth that Bilbo’s still behind us atop the dwarf statue that’s spilling water from its mouth. I push up a stone strap to wrap around the hobbit’s waist, making sure he doesn’t fall to his death, and push the stone beneath his feet off the jut he was on. Bilbo screams in terror before realizing that I’m the one that’s moving him and not the stone crumbling on its own. Quickly Bilbo’s back with us and running away as Smaug makes his way to us, the dragon shaking its head to clear his vision as a result of the flash bombs.

The dwarves climb up to where Thorin is, pulling hammers out from their tunics and waiting for a signal. Bilbo and I stay on the ground, watching Thorin stand atop a giant stone casing of a dwarf. Smaug growls and I turn to look as the dragon lumbers drunkenly past the hall before Thorin yells for the beast’s attention.

“Here! You witless worm!” Thorin yells with dark pleasure.

Smaug stops and turns his massive body to the hall, “ _You_.” The dragon snarls with hate and rage.

Thorin, who’s now eye-level with Smaug, lifts his head in boldness. “I’m taking back what you stole.”

Smaug gives a cold laugh. “You will take nothing from me, dwarf. I laid low your warriors of old.” The dragon says with a scornful smile. “I instilled fear into the hearts of Men. I am the King Under the Mountain!” The dragon shouts in a loud, thunderous roar. Smaug stands at his full height, his wide chest puffed up in pride and eyes draw together viciously at Thorin.

I watch as the Dwarf King stares right back at Smaug, his stance firm and his eyes burning fiercely with a fire that rivals Smaug’s dragon fire. “This is not your kingdom.” Thorin growls at the dragon. “These are dwarf lands. This is dwarf gold, and we will have our revenge.” Thorin promises before wrapping his hand around the iron chain and jumping up off, the dwarves below move as one and release the latches on the casing.

Smaug stands firm, ready to withstand an attack before breathing a surprised gasp. The dragons eyes widen in wonder as the stone casing reveals a golden statue. The wonder in Smaug’s eyes doesn’t last long as the gold begins to melt, not having time enough to set, and explodes all over the fire-drake. Smaug lets out a shocked cry and turns to get away from the molten gold but can’t outrun it.

I don’t waste a second in pushing the stone beneath Bilbo and I up and away from the scorching wave of gold lava.

“Oh dear me.” Bilbo breathes out in astonishment.

I watch, enthralled, as Smaug vanishes from sight under the river of gold. The dragon, so greedy for gold ended up drowning in it. Talk about irony. I look to Thorin, a wide shocked grin making its way on his face. Thorin looks as surprised as I am, his sweat drenched face relaxing for a second before a sound below causes him to freeze. I look down and see the golden lake ripple before Smaug rises from it depths screaming in pain. “No!” I shout, pulling down stone and pushing the dragon back under the gold lake. “Stay down!”

Smaug fights against me, splashing gold on the walls, and yelling. “Ah! It burns!”

I give a powerful pull, bending my knees and lowering into a crouch before pushing down stone on the dragon. Smaug’s head goes crashing down under the liquid gold, his body struggling fiercely at first before slowing down to a complete stop. I ease up on the pressure, afraid to even breathe, before standing slowly. I let go of my breath before screaming in rage as Smaug whips his tail and breaks my hold on his head.

The dragon rushes up and vomits gold, his screams loud and fear inducing. Smaug lunges forward in panic, gold dripping as he flees. I try to pull him back, but his tail’s destroying the stone pillars I send after him. The dragon runs for the main entrance, his body breaking the stone wall as he yells in fury. “Revenge? You dare speak to me about revenge!” Smaug shouts out coarsely.

“No he’s headed towards Lake-town!” Bilbo yells out helplessly.

“No!” I scream before pushing my platform after Smaug. Bilbo yelps before grabbing onto my thigh for stability. We rush past the destroyed entrance only to see Smaug spread his gold covered wings and take off into the sky, twirling in the air with gold flying off his skin and falling to the ground.

“I will show you revenge Oakenshield.” Smaug warns as he beats his wings, staying in place as he stares at us. “You care about them the people of Lake-town don’t you?” The dragon realizes. “Good, then you can watch them die!” Smaug says with cruelty before turning. With one powerful beat of his wings Smaug propels himself towards Lake-town and I feel weak with fear.

I push my pillar as fast as I can but I’m not fast enough to catch up to his powerful wings. I stop helplessly at the edge of the border of Erebor, and watch as Smaug covers the distance within a blink of an eye.

“I am fire...” Smaug heralds as he flies, “…I am _death_.”

I drop to my knees, my eyes burning and sight turning blurry.

Bilbo crumples next to me, “What have we done?”

 


	7. Another brief interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to be the villain, the obstacle between them, but someone has to be the voice of reason!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this little puppy out before starting to edit the next big chapter. Fili POV again because I can't leave Kili and Tauriel well enough alone.

**Another brief interlude**

 

Bain jumps into action, startling the rest of us. “We have to get my father, he has a black arrow!”

“And what good will it do? We need at least two to kill the beast.” I say harshly to the boy, my eyes narrowing at this old song again.

“Girion wounded Smaug, he tore off a plate on his chest he did!” Bain shouts back at me in anger.

“If the boy speaks true then we must get to Bard.” Tauriel intervenes calmly, her voice strong and firm in the face of certain death.

I bite my tongue, catching Kíli’s tired eyes as he props himself off the table to stand onto the floor. “Where are they holding him?”

“In the center of town, in the holding cells.” Bain answers in a hurry as he runs to the door. “I hid the arrow, just in case the Master’s men came to grab us.”

I take in the boy’s words and look around the cramped house. Three human children, a healer, a toy maker, an elf and a wounded dwarf; not the top of the litter to become Lake-towns only hope of survival but it would have to do. “Bofur,” I call out as I take point in this rag tag group, “take Bain and head for the arrow. Óin, take the children and Kíli and grab a boat. Bain, after giving Bofur the arrow, head for the boat and make for shore. Tauriel, you and I will head for Bard and set him free.” Tauriel nods her understanding. “Do not wait for us, get as far as you can from this place.” I tell the rest of the group.

“But I can fight!” Bain says with a glare.

“That is Smaug, a fire-drake! Don’t be stupid and careless with your life!” I shout back. “You have two sisters to look after for boy.” A roar shakes the run down house, “We’re wasting time, move!” I order and don’t wait to see if my orders are being carried out. I run for the door, sensing Tauriel behind me, and sprint for the town center. I watch as Tauriel over takes me, her long legs eating up the distance, twirling gracefully to avoid the rush of panicked townspeople.

The shadow of the dragon falls over Lake-town and the air vibrates with the terrified screams of its people. I run, keeping my panic contained and eyes on trained on Tauriel’s figure. After what seems like an eternity we finally reach the holding cells, Tauriel standing in front of the occupied cell.

“My children?” Bard asks Tauriel, turning when I make my appearance. “Where are they?”

“Safe. I sent them with Óin to get as far from here as possible. Bain, on the other hand, is with Bofur retrieving the black arrow for you.”

Bard closes his eyes in pain and relief before opening them with a steel like gleam, “Get me out.”

“I cannot find the keys.” Tauriel says with a slight hitch in her voice as she searches the desk with the slightest edge of panic.

I push her out of the way and pull out a set of tools from within my coat. “Lucky for you that there’s a dwarf with you.” I spend a few heart-stopping seconds on the lock and give a shout of victory when the lock gives. The door opens and Bard comes rushing out. “They should be making their way to us now with the arrow.” I says as Tauriel and I run after the man.

Bard kicks open the door leading out of the holding cells and we stare out into hell. Fire is eating up the majority of the town, Smaug laughing in cruel delight as screams become an insidious chant.

“Where are they?” Bard asks as he looks out in the crowd.

“There!” Tauriel points in the distance.

I follow her finger and see Bofur and Bain breaking through the crowd.

“Father!” Bain yells as he puts on a burst of speed and comes rushing towards us, Bofur tripping and falling to the ground.

“Bofur!” I yell and run to my fallen friend. Bain is with his father, black arrow in hand, I am no longer needed there. I feel the air shift behind me and see that Tauriel has followed me, the father and son disappearing from sight.

“We need to leave.” Tauriel says with urgency as she runs alongside me, not stopping as she helps me scoop Bofur and his stupid hat up.

I don’t reply. There’s no time to answer as Smaug releases an impossibly hot flame to render half the town in fire. The three of us run with Tauriel at the front, trusting that her elf eyes will lead us to Óin, Kíli and the girls. Years seem to pass before Tauriel signals a boat. She takes off running and leaps into the air, landing into the boat gracefully before turning to look at Bofur and me with wide eyes.

“Hurry!” She shouts as she reaches for an oar to help Óin.

“Go Bofur!” I shout. Bofur nods and rushes forward, his legs pushing off from the wooden edge and landing half in the boat with his legs submerged in the water. I don’t wait for them to pull him in before making my own jump, landing painfully on top of him. I rush to sit right and take the oar from Óin, having more endurance than the healer. Tauriel and I set a fast pace, pushing our arms into rowing us away from the inferno and to shore. My eyes stay locked on the dragon, which is flying around the town before stopping in mid-flight in the center. “He’s found them.” Tauriel clenches her jaw, saying nothing as her powerful arms row. I watch as Smaug lets out a mighty laugh that’s cut short, his massive body jerking violently. “Can it be?” I dare ask aloud in hope.

Tauriel turns to look, her arms never stopping. “He did it. His aim was true.” The she-elf turns to give me a look of wonder before looking over to Kíli who is barely keeping his eyes open.

I look away from her and focus on Smaug. The fire-drake beats his wings desperately, propelling him higher in to the air, his chest glowing bright to let out a flame to the sky before his wings falter and his chest glow goes out.

Smaug is slayed.

I can hardly believe it even as I watch his body crash into what little is left of Lake-town, the impact creating waves that rock our boat brutally. “Hold on!” I shout as the human girls scream and latched onto Óin. Kíli’s hand finds its way to Tauriel’s arm, his eyes locked onto mine while Bofur clasps the boat. Tauriel and I row with the waves, my arms burning as I push harder and harder. The waves push us closer to the shore in the end, and it isn’t long before the boat makes land. I jump out, Bofur quickly following me, and pull the boat to land.

Óin climbs out, holding Tilda in his arms and speaking comforting words to Sigrid. Tauriel is helping Kíli out of the boat, her eyes only seeing him, and I stand beside Bofur feeling more alive than ever.

“We survived.” I say in wonder.

“Aye lad, we did.” Bofur whispers as he throws an arm around my shoulders.

I pull the toymaker into a fierce hug, laughing with joy. We turn and make for the couple and let out whoops of victory. I hug my brother, cheeks hurting from smiling. We survived! Once settled down, I look at my companions and say the one thing we are all thinking about. “We make for the Lonely Mountain.”

“Aye, but for now rest I don’t think my body will hold up to anymore movement.” Bofur says exhaustion evident in his every movement.

I nod my agreement and we make camp, none of us wanting to create a fire after nearly burning to death. Tauriel and Óin check over Kíli before they let my brother sleep. I lay down next to him, sticking close to give him warmth, and watch Bofur and Óin settle in close to us. Tauriel has the two human girls in her arms and gives me a small smile.

“Sleep, I will stand watch.” She says gently as to not awaken her human charges.

I think of protesting but I feel my eyes closing and before I know it I fall to sleep.

X

I awaken with cries filling the air. I jolt up and look around in a frantic manner paranoid that somehow Smaug has come back from the dead to kill us all. Seeing n dragon I sight I slowly calm down. I instead see that families reunite after making it to shore, some falling to their knees in despair at the loss of loved ones.

I look away and glance around at our own group. Bofur and Óin are helping Kíli up, the boat ready to make the journey across the lake to access the mountain. Tauriel is standing by the human children, her eyes no doubt scanning the area for any sight of Bard.

“Fíli.” Bofur calls out.

I look to him in question.

“We’re ready.” The toymaker says before sending a subtle nod to Kíli.

My brother is staring at the she-elf with a pained hopeful expression. I sigh and walked towards them. I send Bofur a thankful nod and wait until he joins Óin at the boat before speaking to my little brother. “You can’t take her to Erebor, at least not now.” I say to him, knowing that Tauriel can most likely hear us.

“I love her; I will not be parted from her.” Kíli says in a firm tone, already his pallor regaining a healthy shade.

“Kíli, you know how Thorin is.”

“Fíli, brother,” Kíli says as he grasps my shoulder, “Tauriel is it for me. She has my heart and soul, and I hope that I have hers in return.” Kíli says with a grin before he turns serious, “I never thought that I would have a chance with her. Now that I do, now that I know that she feels the same I will fight to my dying breath for her. Thorin will have to accept it or he won’t. I hope he does.”

I reach over to place my hand atop of his. “Kíli, you stubborn idiot, listen to me. We don’t know what we’ll be walking into when we reach the Lonely Mountain. Thorin will not be in any agreeable mood so quickly after reclaiming the mountain.” I don’t say that the company may even be dead for all we know. “There are things that are more important than your love life. Tauriel is the Captain of the Guard; do you not think that she will not have to answer back to her King?” The look that Kíli gives me is a familiar one. It’s the one where he knows that I am talking sense but he is too damn stubborn to admit it.

Kíli rubs his face roughly, giving out a frustrated sound as he looks at me through his fingers. “Fuck!”

I try not to grin at the curse that he picked up from our otherworldly companion. Instead I look to Tauriel, who is looking back at me with a pained but accepting expression. I don’t want to be the villain, the obstacle between them, but someone has to be the voice of reason! I look to Bofur and Óin who are standing at the ready by the boat. I give Kíli a slight nudge, “Go on, I can buy you a few minutes but Kíli,” I say forcing my younger brother to look at me, “don’t drag it out. We need to leave quickly.”

Kíli nods and goes to his lady love.

I go to Bofur and we stand around awkwardly as Tauriel and Kíli exchange words. I watch as Tauriel stares down at Kíli, with an open pained expression that blanks out as Prince Legolas comes galloping in atop a horse. I curse as the Prince sneers out a command, breaking whatever moment that my brother and the she-elf were having. Tauriel turns, her face blank, towards the Prince before Kíli stops her. I can’t see what he does but the blank mask breaks as Kíli turns away and makes his way towards us. I keep my gaze on the two elves, one glaring and the other looking as if their very heart is leaving them.

I turn my back to them both as my brother joins me; the Lonely Mountain beckons us, and that unfortunately is more important than love.


	8. The one where everything seems to go wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A darkness is coming Bilbo Baggins,” I say feeling soul weary, “and I think it’s going to take all of us to fight it back from the hell it crawled out of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, hope y'all enjoy this one. Thank you for all your views and kudos, means a lot to me. 
> 
> We're almost to the finish line. 
> 
> Read, comment, enjoy.

**The one where everything seems to go wrong**

 

I’m alone, breathing in stale air and trying to come up with a game plan. Breathe in and out, in and out, one two three, maybe by just breathing the solution to this new shitstorm will come to me. Breathe in and out, in and out, one two three. While I’m here trying to cope, the rest of the company is busy looking through mountains of gold in search of the Arkenstone. I can see them even now, scattered about the immense great hall, shifting through treasure. Thorin's been pacing like a madman by the throne, and Bilbo is hiding in dark corners.

Everything has gone to shit since the death of Smaug.

The second the dragon’s heart stopped beating my armor’s glow nearly died out. I felt a stab of sadness; not because Smaug died because that crazy beast needed to be put down…I felt sadness because an ancient First Age being was gone. I hadn’t even noticed that I felt Smaug until he died. It was like someone had flipped a light off in my mind, so sudden and dark.

I can feel the power of the Valar weakening in this world, it’s like Smaug isn’t only heralding the end of Lake-Town but of this world also. Not sure if I like what that’s foreshadowing. In any case, my armor’s still glowing but its back to its soft low glow. I’m exhausted no matter how much sleep I get and worse yet our food supplies are running dangerously low.

We’ve been in this mountain for a week already and I haven’t been eating as I should have. The dwarves and Bilbo needs it more seeing as they can’t last as long as I can without it, but sooner or later we’re going to have to leave this mountain just to live.

Which, of course, is where the problems start.

Thorin’s been acting weird. Talking to himself and staring out to the sea of gold, that kind of weird. Balin’s been side-eying him as if expecting an attack. The Kings eyes have a feral mad gleam, muttering lowly about finding the stone and looking around with shifty eyes. I suspect that he’s getting it but it isnt until Balin comes up to me, whispering _Gold sickness_ to me in fear that Thorin would overhear and go batshit crazy on us that confirms it. Balin would know firsthand how gold sickness looks like, having served under Thrain and Thror. I feel the heaviness of my duty every time I hear a stray maddened whisper of gold. My true mission’s only just beginning, but how am I going to fight against a mental illness? Was it even a mental affliction or sort of like a curse placed on the gold? Thorin won back the mountain…but I can’t help but feel that something bad is coming and here we are wasting time looking for a damn stone.

Sighing I rub my face as I'm reminded of Bilbo’s conversation. We were still outside the borders of Erebor when Bilbo, still on his knees spoke up.

“Constance, Smaug…he said something to me…something that I feel you should know. I haven’t told Thorin…well you can see how he isnt in the condition to hear it…but…I fear that we should have never have come here.” The hobbit says as he wipes his face of tears, looking haggard and heartbroken.

My body at this point was shaking uncontrollably, with the adrenaline crash and the horror of watching Smaug destroy Lake-Town when I turn to look down at the hobbit. I didn’t want hear any more bad news, not when I can feel the souls of Lake-Town vanishing, like little pinpricks across my skin. When Smaug’s soul was put out it was like a punch to my sternum. I didn’t have the strength to move even a little rock, grieving in a detached way about the loss. I didn’t hate Smaug, not like the rest of Middle-Earth does, I didn’t like him but I respected him for his power for what he represented. I know better than to let anyone know that I’m sad to see him go, in a weird way that I can’t explain. Sniffling back tears I shakily stand, my legs barely holding me up before Bilbo rushes to my side and takes some of my weight against his body. We awkwardly shuffled our way back to the mountain, the decision to walk back evident in the way that my armor is dull and my tremors. Maybe that’s why Bilbo felt it safe enough to tell me, we’re far away from Thorin to hear us. I give him a nod, waiting for him to continue.

Bilbo’s mouth quivers for a moment before he speaks, “‘Oakenshield's quest will fail. A Darkness is coming, it will spread to every corner of the land’.” Bilbo comes to a stop, looking up at me with a pinched expression tight with fear and guilt. “What did we do by coming here Constance? Do you know what Smaug meant? Is that why you were sent here?”

“A darkness **is** coming Bilbo Baggins,” I say feeling soul weary, “and I think it’s going to take all of us to fight it back from the hell it crawled out of.”

Ever since then Bilbo and I have never spoken of it. Walking into the mountain we noticed the change, giving each other knowing looks before parting ways. So, now I’ve been avoiding crazy-eyes Thorin in an effort to come up with a battle plan but I’m coming up with bupkis. Obviously this isn’t helping I don’t know what to do which leaves me with one option. I have to go and actually find the crazy bastard. That’s easy enough Thorin hasn’t left the throne room since the dragon was killed.

I lean my head back on the cold stone, in some abandoned dusty corridor, and lower myself to the ground into a crouch. I let my arms hang listlessly between my legs, eyes closed, trying to find a way to get Thorin back to his normal snooty self. My stomach’s beginning to cramp and my throat’s tightening with thirst, soon even I won’t be able to ignore the hunger pains. I bump my head against the mountain, frustrated and hungry. Why the hell did Thorin even need a stone to convince everyone he’s King Under the Mountain? Thorin walked from the Blue Mountains, fought off Trolls, Orcs, and Goblins; he entered Mirkwood and escaped from the dungeons to get to the Lonely Mountain. Sure he wasn’t able to kill Smaug, but he managed to outrun and outwit the fire-drake…in my book Thorin can rule whatever the hell he wants. He doesn’t need to prove to some fucking dwarves, who gave a flimsy excuse to cover up their own damn cowardice in not joining this quest, that he was fit to rule.

Fucking Dwarves though, stubborn little shits.

So here I am, contemplating life and capability when I feel a disturbance near the base of the mountain. I focus on that section and give a chuckle at what I see, the princes, the healer and Bofur.

Finally, some good news.

I rise from my crouch and locate the rest of the company. I see that they’re actually close to the sealed entrance that I pulled up after Smaug’s dramatic exit. I make my way there, nudging Balin with a small rock to get his attention silently, and come to a stop at the haphazardly made stone wall. I lift my hands and part them, to let in the rest of the company. I smile goofily as I take in their smoke covered faces and Kíli’s wide grin. I close the entrance after they’ve walked in and hug Bofur, who’s smiling crookedly like the cat who ate the canary, “How the fuck did your hat survive a dragon?” 

“Ah lass, that’s a secret of the trade can’t be tellin’ no one.” Bofur says with a grin as he swipes off said hat and bows to me.

I laugh and look to Óin who looks glad to be back with the company. “I see Kíli’s doing better.” I glance at Kíli and pull him into a hug taking is weight off his brother. This close I can sense that he’s free of that weird taint that had been slowly devouring his spirit.

“I wish I can say it was due to my healing skills, but no we were lucky to have the she-elf there with us at Lake-town.” Óin says in an awed manner.

Balin and I look around quickly, even though I know that Thorin is still in the throne room. The Dwarf King has got us so paranoid that we’re jumping at shadows, Jesus Christ.

“Take care of what you say Óin.” Balin says in a tight voice, his eyes cinched in stress.

“What has happened Balin?” Óin asks, his eyes following Balin’s lips while the princes and Bofur lean forward with concerned expressions.

I tune Balin out, not needing to be reminded of how Thorin has lost his goddamn mind. I sense Bilbo creeping into the entrance hall, turning to look back at him and take in his withdrawn expression. I think the change in Thorin has hit the hobbit the worst. Bilbo tried so hard to become accepted, even liked by the prickly King, and for what? For Thorin to turn around and start acting like he has a major stick up his greedy ass it isn’t fair, but I stop that line of thought. Whining’s for children, life is never fair. I know that better than anymore.

I leave the dwarves to confer with each other, they must know how to properly handle something like this I hope, and go to Bilbo. We stand in the shadows, quietly looking out to the dwarves. I notice that Bilbo’s hand is inside his pocket, worrying his little jewelry that gives me a small sense of unease. Yeah I know it’s a ring, plain and a bit scuffed…I don’t know why Bilbo’s hiding it like a secret. I ignore it though; I don’t have time to worry about whatever the hell it is that’s plaguing the hobbit, not when right now the priority is getting rid of the gold sickness, for all our sakes.

“It’s all gone wrong hasn’t it?” Bilbo says in a low voice.

That’s what we’re reduced to, speaking in whispers for fear of Thorin’s ire. I sigh and cross my arms, looking at the dwarves speaking in that weird harsh tongue of theirs. I sense Thorin, who’s left the throne room and is now in the treasure room…no doubt looking for that fucking Arkenstone. “Yeah…it’s all gone wrong Bilbo. I don’t know how to fix this…how am I supposed to protect the Line of Durin when it’s hyped up on gold sickness? Tulkas didn’t say anything about this. I’m built to tackle any obstacle physically. I can’t exactly beat the gold sickness out of Thorin.” I lower my head and ignore the loud rumble of my stomach.

Bilbo hums distractedly before looking at me sharply. “Your creator, if I recall, is one of the Valar correct?”

“Yeah.” I answer, looking down at the child sized male.

“So…would it be too far-fetched to ask if you can communicate with him? I think if anyone can give us some sort of insight in how to break this hold over Thorin it would be the Valar.” Bilbo whispers, not wanting the dwarves to hear.

I bite my lip and chew lightly, thinking about it. “You know I honestly haven’t tried talking to him, just kinda winged everything I’ve been doing. He usually contacts me, not the other way around.” Bilbo looks unimpressed with that answer and I shrug as I roll my eyes, “Well it’s worked so far hasn’t it? Look I’ll try but I need to be outside…I get the feeling that I won’t get any response in here.” Not when the feeling of oppression is so strong that my armor is barely glowing at all. I don’t let myself freak out about that, I’m not ready to even begin to wonder why that’s happening.

Bilbo nods and we both sneak away outside, the dwarves still chattering away about Thorin I assume. We walk down the mountain, both not feeling comfortable with being too close to the dwarves and Thorin. It’s disheartening to realize that we’re worrying about Thorin’s craziness, never knowing when that laser eyed dwarf is going pop out of nowhere with murder in his eyes yelling about the stone. It’s night, but that’s not an issue as I lead us away without tripping over rocks. I stop quite a distance from the entrance and look at Bilbo.

“Well…give it a go.” The hobbit says with a wave of his hand.

I look up to the stars, looking like glitter spilled on black ink, and marvel at its beauty. “You know, back in my old life…in my old world…the sky didn’t have stars. Not like this at least. Too much light pollution,” I say before realizing that Bilbo doesn’t know about electricity, “we had this artificial light that lit up roads and entire cities. You could see the light for miles…after…after the invasion and the power restrictions, the stars still didn’t shine as bright as these.” I glance at Bilbo and see him giving me a sad look. I look away with a grim smile, wanting to share a bit of my history with someone who isnt consumed with gold or treasure. “In those days we didn’t have the time to look up at the stars anyway, we had a war to win. I still don’t have the time to look at the stars, got a King to save. But you know, I never really felt sad about it, I had Marcus…I had my team…at the risk of sounding corny they were my stars. I didn’t want for anything.” I close my eyes, and take a steadying breath. “Tulkas….it’s me, obviously,” I say with a scoff, “I have a bit of a situation here. I need your advice. It’s concerning Thorin Oakenshield and gold sickness. Is there anything that I should be doing?” I keep my eyes closed and hear nothing but the cold wind. “Well that sucked.” I look down at Bilbo and see him shiver. “We should head back, before we die of hypothermia of all things.”

Bilbo nods, his teeth slightly clanking, but tilts his head back. “It’s a shame, you know, to not look at the stars. Everyone, in my opinion, needs to stop and admire their beauty once in a while…even Maia as powerful as you. Especially since you’re not with your team or…Marcus” Bilbo fumbles over his words as I stare at him, his cheeks flushing a bit. “I beg your pardon, I shouldn’t have presumed to say anything of that.”

“It’s okay Bilbo.” I’ll always miss them, but nowadays thinking about them doesn’t tear me up inside anymore. I feel Bilbo grab my hand and huddle close to me. I don’t even realize that I’m tearing up, not until Bilbo squeezes my hand in comfort.

“Come on, we have a few moments to look up at the stars.” Bilbo says in the gentlest voice.

I squeeze his hand gently, aware of my strength, and tilt my head back. I can feel tears stream down my face and I breathe through the sudden onset of melancholy. We stand there, looking at the stars, and my heart breaks again at not being on Earth.

Please help me. I’m out of my fucking depth here. I don’t know how to help someone fight against something in their mind, not when I’m not even the perfect model of mental health either.

“Your armor!” Bilbo yelps out.

I look down and see that my armor is glowing brightly, like a sudden blaze of light. I stare at it for a moment and turn to look at Bilbo but see that he’s frozen in place. His eyes are wide, glowing with the light of my armor, face petrified in surprise. Sort of like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, when the basilisk was petrifying kids left and right. I’m poking Bilbo in the face when I nearly jump out of my skin, a shrill scream ripping out from my chest when I hear someone behind me.

“It’s been a long time since I have come here.”

I whirl around and I clutch my chest, feeling the warm heat of the chest plate, and try to get my adrenaline down. I wheeze as I see Tulkas in front of me. My chest tightens with fierce emotion, my throat feeling several sizes too small and my eyes burn with the threat of more tears. I didn’t know how much I missed his golden arrogant self until this very second. He looks just as beautiful as I remember, like Chris Hemsworth when he played Thor. Tall, with a long golden mane and a well groomed thick beard. His blue eyes are warm surrounded by his ethereal glow, seeping out of him like a sun. I don’t bother speaking as I try and tackle him to the ground, I would have too if he wasn’t a Vala. He takes my hefty weight and doesn’t budge an inch. I wrap my arms around him tight and make some weird kind of noise but that’s okay, this is a very emotional moment for me.

“There, there…dry your tears we don’t have much time before my presence here is noted.” Tulkas says in a soothing tone.

I hug him tight for one more second before letting go and stepping back, our armors glowing fiercely together. “I missed you, this world, these people, are…stressful.”

Tulkas gives a booming laugh, his head thrown back with abandon, before quieting and giving me a roguish smile. “Ah they are Dwarves, Elves and Men, it is in their nature. Although this creature here,” Tulkas says as he looks to the frozen Bilbo, “is quite different yet extraordinary. Curious little things, hobbits, and even curiouser is what he has in his pockets.”

“You mean that ring?” I ask as I look to Bilbo.

“Yes…what do you know of it?” Tulkas asks as he gives me a questioning look.

“It looks like an ordinary ring…but…it feels… _wrong_ to me. I don’t want to get near it. It might explain why he seems to become invisible when he wears it. Bilbo likes to think he’s so slick, but I’ve seen him.”

Tulkas nods and gives me a proud smile, “I knew that no creation of mine could be swayed by the Ring of Power. That is the ring of Melkor’s servant, Sauron. Evil resides in it, and many have fallen to their doom because of it. This will not be the last time Arda will see this wretched power, but that is not of importance at the moment. Thorin Oakenshield's gold sickness is.”

I give Bilbo a searching look before turning away, the Ring and the dark warning from Tulkas pushed to the back of my mind for now. “Yeah, he’s gone completely crazy. He has these crazy eyes, always looking everywhere with suspicion. I swear sometimes I think he’s seconds away from pulling a sword on us.” I scrub my face roughly, “I don’t know what to do. He’s getting close to the edge. I don’t think he’ll last long with the way he’s going, he’ll have a mutiny on his hands.”

“Hmm, not likely from his company…Dwarves are loyal to a fault. Unfortunately the only one who can help Thorin, is Thorin himself. He is trapped in his own mind by greed and it will take a powerful event to manage to break through that hold.”

“So basically I got jack shit in helping him.” I say apathetically.

Tulkas shrugs, “Thorin needs to be reminded why he started this journey in the first place. He needs to be reminded why he has fought, why he has sacrificed so much for his people. In essence, Thorin needs to be reminded that he is Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Oh is that all.” I say with sarcasm before rubbing my face hard, hoping to rub away the feeling of despair. “That’s easier said than done.”

“My dear, if it were easy than anyone could do it.” Tulkas tells me before pulling me into a bear hug. “I am proud of you child, I know that you will know what to do. Now I must leave you, but never forget that I will be listening should you need my help.”

I hug him back and soon I feel him leave, Bilbo stumbling in the background. I let my arms fall and look to the skies with a grin, “Smooth exit.” A warm breeze blows against my cheek and I swear the stars twinkle just a bit brighter.

“Constance?” Bilbo asks uncertainly.

“It’s alright Bilbo,” I say not looking at the hobbit that’s hiding the source of all evil in his pocket, “Tulkas came to speak to me. I think I know what we need to do to help Thorin.”

Bilbo comes to me, his dirt stained face looking up to me. “And?”

I look down and take in Bilbo’s face. The fucking little hobbit blind-sided all of us with his non-threatening demeanor. Who would have thought that he was toting around the One Ring. Jesus Christ where did he even find it? He didn’t look like he was being affected by the ring, maybe he _can_ handle it but that’s not my mission right _now_ , Thorin is. He’s the immediate threat that’s need to be neutralized. “We have to make Thorin remember who he is.” It’s all very Lion King if you ask me, but that was an awesome movie so I’m not even mad about it.

“And how do we do that?” Bilbo asks as he begins to follow me back to the mountain.

“Fuck if I know Bilbo.” I say with a grin.

* * *

 

 

It’s been five days and in all that time my plan to make Thorin snap out of his crazy has failed. I tried shoving his nephews in his face, all that managed to do was to make Thorin paranoid about them wanting to take the Arkenstone and crown for themselves. I sent Balin to him, but that resulted in Balin walking away looking so old and tired. I don’t try to send any one of the company to him, not after finding out hours later of constant nagging to the old dwarf what Thorin said to Balin. I tried speaking to him myself but Thorin just ranted at me that why wasn’t I looking for the Arkenstone, that if he found out that I was keeping it from him I would regret it. That what good was I if I couldn't even manage to find the stone with my powers. I had to get out of there before I knocked his ass out for even saying that to me.

I’m reduced to wandering the halls after that little scene, stomach cramping steadily more each day when I sense a lone rider come to the walls of Erebor. I make my way there, along with the rest of the company, to see Bard the Bowman ride up, looking like he crawled through a field of ash. Bofur had told me about how Bard killed the dragon; I’m glad that he’s alive, that his children are safe. I hear a soft rustling and see Thorin by the gates, a raven of all things in his grasp. Where the hell did he find a raven? I send a questioning look to the King but he ignores me as he slides into view after the raven takes off with a boost from his arm. He prowls the makeshift walkway that I made and gives Bard a cold look of indifference. I go to stand at his side, giving Bard a pleading look that Bard frowns at. Hopefully Bard can read the situation and somehow make Thorin see reason.

“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain!” He says as primly as he can while looking like he needs a bath. “We are glad to find you alive beyond hope.”

“Why do you come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?” Thorin asks with a slight sneer, jumping over any polite small talk and diving straight into it.

“Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in?” Bard shoots back. “Like a robber in his hold?”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m expecting to be robbed.” Thorin answers just as quickly.

Bard shakes his head, “My lord, we’ve not come to rob you but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak to me?”

I can see Thorin look out into the distance before nodding in agreement. He turns away and makes his way down the stairs that I had created, the raven I note quickly disappearing into the vast horizon. I look away from the curious raven and see the large host at the ruins of Dale, and hope that they are just there for relief purposes to the survivors of Lake-Town. I had barely felt them earlier but thought nothing of it. I hope that they aren’t really here to launch an attack on the mountain. I stay on the ledge, watching as Bard nods to me before dismounting and walking across the bridge to approach the sealed entrance. I follow Thorin, at a distance, and open a hole and raise a foot stool for him to stand on so that he can talk eye to eye with Bard.

“I am listening.” Thorin murmurs lowly, not wanting for the rest of the company to hear. I manage to get close enough to see both Thorin and Bard, but both are too focused on each other to notice that I’m there.

“On behalf of the people of Lake-town, I ask that you honor your pledge. A share of the treasure so that they might re-build their lives.” Bard says with a hoarse smoke ravaged voice, lowering his tone to match Thorin’s cadence.

Thorin gives Bard a narrowed look, the kind that one gives to a bug crawling into one’s view. He shakes his head, looking bored with the situation, “I will not trade with any man, not while an armed host lies before my door.”

This isn’t going good at all.

“That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms.” Bard says somberly, his face stern.

“Your threats do not sway me.” Thorin replies quickly.

Bard frowns as he waves a hand toward the mountain. “What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help. And in return you brought upon them only ruin and death.”

“When did the men of Lake-town come to our aid what for the promise of rich reward?” Thorin asks as he steps closer to the opening, brows furrowing with anger.

“A bargain was struck.” Bard stresses.

“A _bargain_? What choice did we have but to batter our birth rights for blankets and food, to ransom our future in exchange for our freedom? You call that a fair trade?” Thorin whispers dangerously. “Tell me, Bard the Dragon Slayer, why should I honor such terms?” Thorin leans forward with a mocking glare.

“Because you gave us your word,” Bard says in a shocked whisper, “does that mean nothing?”

Thorin doesn’t answer, just slides to the side and out of view. He looks to the ground, in deep thought, before looking up. The rest of the dwarves and Bilbo had followed us down, catching the majority of the conversation, and join me in waiting to see what Thorin would say. He comes to a decision and yells out, “Be gone! Let our arrows fly!”

I can see Bard’s face crumble into frustrated anger as he hits the mountain, turning away to race across the bridge. He mounts his horse but doesn’t leave. I can see his shoulders hunched up and his horse dancing nervously.

Bilbo makes a frustrated sound before pushing his way towards the front of the group, stopping a few feet in front of Thorin. “What are you doing! You cannot go to war.” He says not understanding why Thorin is acting so foolishly.

Thorin doesn’t look at Bilbo, just keeps his steel gaze on the mountain. “This does not concern you.”

I look at Bilbo and see his face flustered with genuine anger.

“Excuse me,” He snarls as he inches forward, hands jerking sharply, “but just in case you haven’t noticed there is an army of Elves out there.” Bilbo’s jaw is tense, firming against the need to shout at the Dwarf King. “Not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We are in fact outnumbered.” Bilbo adds trying to make Thorin understand.

Thorin finally turns to look at Bilbo with a smug grin, one he throws my way also, “Not for much longer.”

Bilbo’s head jerks back in surprise before he asks confused, “What does that mean?”

“It _means_ Master Baggins,” Thorin says with an air of confidence as he walks forward with his hands clasped in front of him, “you should never underestimate Dwarves.” He ends up looming over Bilbo, a surprisingly beautiful smile on his face that sends chills up my spine.

A feeling that apparently Bilbo shares with me because he immediately looks away as his lips thin in thought.

“We have reclaimed Erebor,” Thorin says as he walks away from us and back into the mountain before suddenly turning to look at us with a commanding look, “now we defend it.” Thorin stays staring at us for a moment longer before making his way back into the darkness of Erebor, the rest of the dwarves following him solemnly until it is only Bilbo and me left.

I place my hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, feeling the tight tension that he is holding there, and don’t let him go until I see that the dwarves are far away from us. I pull the hobbit to follow me and signal Bard. I watch as he dismounts and practically runs back to the mountain.

“Please, get him to see reason.” Bard tells me as he comes back to the opening.

“That’s funny,” I reply with a bitter grin, “I was hoping that you would get him to see reason. Go back Bard, we’ll try and fix this…just calm down the masses yeah?” I plead.

“‘ _The Lord of Silver Fountains / The King of Carven Stone / The King Beneath the Mountain / shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness / at the Mountain King's return. / But all shall fail in sadness, and the Lake will shine and burn’_.” Bard sings softly with a bitter twist.

I stare at the man, confused. “What?”

“That was a prophecy made long, long ago. I knew the second Thorin Oakenshield stepped into my home and talked about the wind lance that he was familiar. I told the town that. The promise of gold rendered them deaf to what happened to Dale. They forgot those who died in the firestorm, and for what purpose? The blind ambition of a Mountain King, so riveted by greed he cannot see beyond his own desire!” Bard growls at me. “I told Thorin that if he awakened that beast, he’d destroy us all!”

I slam my fist against the mountain, Bilbo jumping in fright as a small crater results from the blow. Cracks race through the mountain wall and I see Bard back up a few steps. I try hard to reign in my anger, but all the hopelessness and failures that I’ve been pushing back have finally reached its limit. Thorin is falling deeper into madness, the One Ring is being hidden by a fucking hobbit, the dwarves are at the end of the food supplies, and the sensation of something bad coming is getting stronger; and I have fuck all to show for it. I feel my anger breaking my control, and unfortunately for Bard he’s the closet target I have to aim it at. “I am trying Bard. I have been trying to find a way to deal with Thorin’s gold sickness, trying to stave off starvation and I really don’t need to add you on my list of shit to deal with. I know that Thorin isn’t…in the right mindset but I am working to fix that. You coming here and threatening him with war is not fucking helping me,” I hiss as I slowly stretch my palm out from the tight fist I have it in clenched in, “and accusing Thorin of the actions of Smaug isnt helping either! We both fucking know that Smaug had to leave the mountain, that he had to be killed in order for any peace to be had. With or without Thorin or Smaug, Lake-Town would still be a miserable dreary place to call home, your children growing up with that pathetic excuse of a man as their ruler. Could things have gone better, yes but sometimes shit happens! The important thing is how we react to said shit; so instead of fucking whining, how about you shut the fuck up and help me figure out a way out of this shit situation!” I’m yelling by the time I finish, chest heaving and vision blurry. My stomach gives a loud rumble of hunger and I can hear Bilbo’s stomach groan right along with me. My anger fades quickly so I’m left leaning next to the opening. “Bard, we’re running out of food, of water and we’re stuck with a King who sees anything but searching for the Arkenstone as an act of treason. Do you have anything helpful to say or not?”

“…The Elven King has come to Dale with food and supplies. I can try and get some supplies to you and the rest, but Constance the threat of war is very real. Thranduil is here not to help the people of Dale after the attack of the dragon. He is here to reclaim something of his.” Bard looks about as tired as I feel, “You speak to me about needing help to figure out a way out of a ‘shit situation’, well I say the same to you. I am trying to find a way to help my people survive the oncoming winter after having our home, dreary and miserable as it may have been, destroyed. We are depending entirely on the good will of a King who sees us as inferior to him and his subjects. I am trying to find a way for everyone to walk away unharmed and I need your help, not your anger.” Bard says in a voice overflowing with gloom and exhaustion.

Reprimanded and thankful for the promise of food I nod to the man. “I guess we’re both overwhelmed.”

“Just a tad.” Bard says with a weak smile.

I huff out a laugh before something that Bard said catches my attention. “Wait…you said that King Thranduil came to reclaim something of his…what is it that he’s looking for that he would risk war?”

Bard rubs his stubble clad jaw and shrugs, “I have no idea. He was very tight lipped on that matter, but I think it is the cause of such bad blood between the Elves of Mirkwood and the Dwarves of Erebor.”

I tap my chin in thought, “Bard, I’ll try and figure out what it is that King Thranduil is asking for to avoid war. Get him to back off on an attack and hurry back tonight with food. Hopefully together we can get both Kings to get their head out of their asses.”

“I cannot promise you that…but I will try. Good luck.” Bard says as he turns to go back to his horse. I watch him mount and ride back to Dale. Bilbo and I stand there in silence watching as Bard becomes a small dot as he makes his way to Dale.

“You realize that even mentioning the name of the Elven King will send Thorin into a rage.” Bilbo feels the urge to tell me.

“I won’t be asking Thorin.” I say as I turn away.

“Then who?”

“I’ll be asking Balin. If anyone can give me an unbiased account of what really happened, it’ll be him.”

Bilbo falls silent as he follows me into a corridor, turning into various desolate halls before we walk into an open doorway. There’s a small candle lit in the middle of the room, illuminating rows and rows of books, with Balin and Ori seated at a table. I walk up to the dwarves and ask Ori to give us privacy and wait until Bilbo walks with him out of the room, closing the library doors. Balin sits back in his chair, face lined heavily bracing for more bad news.

“Tell me why King Thranduil is threatening war on the mountain if Thorin doesn’t return something of his.” I say, getting straight to the point.

Balin blinks in surprise, “The White Gems of Lasgalen.” I can hear the title case loud and clear. These gems sound like a big deal, now I needed to know _why_ they’re a big deal. Balin reads the unspoken question on my expression, and waves me to sit in front of him. I settle in and wait for him to start. “Before all of this, the Elves of Mirkwood were our allies. Thranduil had given the gems, which were said to be made of pure starlight, to King Thror to be fastened into a necklace for his wife. When Thranduil came to retrieve the necklace, it was already too late for the gold sickness had captured the King’s mind. King Thranduil is a proud Elf, this slight wasn’t going to be forgotten…but when his wife died…well you can only imagine how that soured things further.” Balin says with a quirk of his bushy white brows.

“What are the chances that Thorin would return the gems to King Thranduil?” I ask.

“Not very high.” Balin says with a shake of his head. “Why do you think that we were locked into the dungeons back in the Woodland Realm? Thorin refused to bargain with the King who asked for the necklace in exchange for safe passage.”

I bite my lip in frustration before huffing in annoyance. “Would you be able to find them, without Thorin knowing?”

Balin stills, “Lass, what you are asking me…is to go against Thorin.”

“Balin I know that you’re not a fool. We are dying in here. There is an Elven army within spitting distance and angry Men. We don’t have any allies to help us; we are running out of food if we haven’t already. This isnt the time to be focusing on Thorin, Balin, the dwarf that is sitting on the throne isn’t him.” I say boldly.

“I can’t lass.” Balin says weakly.

I clench my hands, “Can you tell me honestly if the others would say the same thing?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe this. You would rather die than go ‘behind’ Thorin’s back to save yourselves?”

“Thorin is our King; he has sacrificed more than you will ever know to find us a new home, to make sure that we survived the massacre of Smaug. He has won back our homeland,” Balin says with a fierce look, “how can you think that we would go behind his back in this manner. He is our King.”

I don’t say anything as I slowly stand and push the chair back in under the table. “Balin I say this with as much respect as I can, you’re all fucking insane. If you want to die here, pledging loyalty to a King that isnt the dwarf that sacrificed so much for your people than that’s your prerogative. But don’t make the mistake in thinking that I am going to follow this madness.” I look down at the old dwarven warrior with a severe expression, my armor glowing softly, “I am not of Durin’s Folk. I am not a Dwarf…I come from a different world where I spent thirteen years constantly fighting a war. Survival is the only thing that should matter, not feelings and not old blood feuds. Thorin is not my King and I have no fucking problem going ‘behind’ his back if it means that we all survive long enough to fucking live.” I don’t raise my voice at all, I’m tired. I’m tired of all this pointless drama. I leave Balin sitting alone in a dusty library with nothing but cobwebs and memories of Erebor and push the doors open. Ori tries to get my attention but I find myself tired of dwarves. I keep on walking, feeling Bilbo trail after me. I keep silent as I walk through the mountain, passing the time until I feel Bard galloping towards the mountain. “Bard’s here.” I tell Bilbo before I send a small hedge of stone to stop the man before he comes too close to be spotted. I tap the ground and lower Bilbo and myself into the tunnel. I close it, leaving no evidence that we had left the mountain and push through the earth towards Bard. I raise us up so that we’re standing a few feet in front of Bard and his horse. The man gives me a curious look but says nothing. “Bard I know what it is that King Thranduil wants.”

“And I have some supplies for you all. I took as much as I dared without being noticed.” The Bowman says as he signals to a couple of heavy looking sacks tied to his saddle. He dismounts and works to untie one. “What news do you have for me?”

“The White Gems of Lasgalen.” I say as I go to untie the other.

“Sounds important.” Bard grunts out as he lowers the sack and walks around his horse to face me. “Why do I get the feeling that that’s the only good tidings that you bring?”

“None of the dwarves will even consider looking for the gems to give to me. They see it as an act of betrayal to Thorin who has given his life in making sure that they have a home since the attack on the Lonely Mountain.” I pinch the bridge of my nose before looking to the rugged man, “What did the Elven King say?”

“He’ll attack tomorrow without leave.” Bard spat out.

“Does it have to be the gems that will convince the King to stop the attack?” Bilbo speaks up looking as skittish as a virgin on her wedding day.

I narrow my gaze on the hobbit, almost daring him to say that he’s thinking of trading the goddamn One Ring.

“Well little hobbit,” Bard says with an amused grin, “only one way to find out. Can you find your way to the Kings tent?”

“I’ll find it.” I say as I keep an eye on the jumpy hobbit.

Bard mounts his horse and takes off toward Dale, leaving the two of us in silence. I crouch down and take out enough food to settle my and Bilbo’s hunger before sending the rest to the mountain. I pin point Bombur and wait for him to notice the supplies before turning my attention away from the dwarves. I then look to Bilbo and give him a measuring look, “I hope you know what you’re doing Bilbo.”

“Believe me Constance, so do I.” Bilbo answers nervously.

I shake my head and push the earth towards Dale, passing some food to Bilbo who grabs onto me. We devour the food, the wind whipping our faces as I push us down the trail. We make it in minutes, and catch up to Bard as he dismounts. The man gives me an incredulous look before waving us to follow him. As we walk through the ruins, passing gold clad Elves and raggedly ass looking humans, we come to a stop in front of an opulent looking tent. I can sense the King and someone else, a familiar figure with a staff, “Gandalf.”

“Gandalf is here?” Bilbo asks Bard with a hopeful expression.

“The wizard you mean?” Bard asks as the two elves guarding the entrance stare at us with sharp eyes.

“The very one.” I say as I make for the entrance before being stopped by the Elven guards. I just stare at them for a quick second before moving the ground beneath their feet and continue my path. Bilbo and Bard hurry after me and into the tent where Gandalf is sitting down, leaning somewhat heavily on his staff. I take in his appearance and feel a smile grace my face. “Gandalf, God it’s good to see you.” I say as I stride to him and pull him up out of his seat and into a quick one armed hug before Bilbo crowds in with us.

A throat being cleared breaks our reunion and I turn to look at the elf that I’ve heard so much about. Sitting with an elbow propped on the arm rest, head tilted to the side is the Elven King Thranduil. Brilliant blue eyes size me up, reminding me of a certain blonde haired Prince, while thick black brows furrow in confusion before catching sight of the symbol on my chest plate. Watching him stand to his feet is like witnessing a feline prowl, all graceful sinuous movement. He’s taller than his son, and just as hauntingly beautiful if not more. The King’s clad in a thick layered robe of gun metal grey with a deep burgundy undercover. His pale blonde tresses run smooth down his chest, his pointy ears sticking out charmingly, stopping to his waist a simple yet elegant silver circlet placed on his crown. He strides forward and bows his head a touch, “It is an honor to finally meet you, and even greater one to have you here on Middle-Earth. I am Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.”

I’m flattered in spite of myself. I bow back and hold out a dirty hand. I watch with an embarrassed grin as the King eyes my hand before clasping it in a surprisingly strong grip. I shake it once as I introduce myself, “The honor’s all mine King Thranduil. I’m Constance Williamson. Tulkas spoke of you, and your involvement with my mission.”

Thranduil returns my shake before releasing my hand and placing his gaze on my glowing armor once more, the glow reflecting in his deep set eyes. The King has an almost innocent like expression on his face, but no King that can assemble an army and relief to victims in such a prompt manner can be anything but innocent. “Mission?”

I raise my brows in surprise before looking to Gandalf who just shrugs with a less than believable innocent expression. “I see Gandalf failed to mention my reason for being here.” I tell Thranduil in as little words as possible just what I’m doing on Middle-Earth, of the encroaching darkness, of the Arkenstone and finally of my mission to break the gold sickness plaguing the Line of Durin.

“…Gold sickness, why would the Valar be concerned about a weakness that only plagues Dwarves?” Thranduil asks with an almost invisible sneer.

“Dragon sickness is a malady that affects all of us.” Gandalf corrects politely before glancing playfully at Bilbo, “Well, almost all of us.”

Thranduil follows Gandalf’s gaze and narrows his eyes in thought. “If I am not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeon right from under the nose of my guards.”

Bilbo flusters and tucks his chin close to his neck, “Yesh. Sorry about that.”

Thranduil eyes the hobbit with interest, “But in this tale I am told that you were not alone in aiding Thorin’s company in escaping my realm.” Thranduil’s gaze lands on me.

“Thorin needed to get to the mountain before Durin’s Day ended,” I jump in to answer, “and you complicated that. I know what it is that you want from Thorin, I’ve already tried to get them for you in an attempt to stop you from attacking.”

“And?” Thranduil asks as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. The King has a stubborn expression, not even considering stopping the attack, which reminds me of a certain dark haired stubborn idiot.

For all that the Elves and the Dwarves argue that they’re different they sure as fuck have the same hard headed tendencies. “It went as well as I expected, meaning that no dwarf will go against Thorin to help me help you. The White Gems of Lasgalen won’t come to your possession as long as Thorin is held captive by the gold sickness.” I pause for a moment and decide to go for broke. “But that still doesn’t explain to me why Thorin hates you, because before the sickness Thorin struck me as a dwarf whose word was as good as the crown atop his head. Tulkas had spoken, briefly, that you had denied the dwarves aid…why? What didn’t you do that made Thorin hate all Elves?”

Thranduil closes his eyes briefly before reopening them with a hard cold expression. He steps close to me, blocking my view of the rest of the room, and lowers his head to look me in the eye. I watch him, my body tense as the sensation I get from him is one of pain and anger. Suddenly a ripple of _something_ sends a shiver down my spine and I watch with widening eyes as Thranduil’s impossibly stunning features starts to melt off. The right side of his magnificent face stays the same, but the left side is a horror. His entire cheek is missing, exposing a scarred layer of muscle and bone. The terrible scarring reaches up to the side of his face and ends just before the end tip of his eyebrow. His eye is the discolored white that the blind have, and his ear shows a faint scar. It’s horrible and because Thranduil is so beautiful, the ruin of his face is amplified. Thranduil stares at me, turning his face so I can get a good look at his scars, “This is a result of dragon fire, I know exactly the wrath and ruin it has better than most. The day that Smaug came to the mountain, I rallied my warriors and we came to Erebor. What we found was Smaug laying ruin to everything in sight. There was nothing that I could have done but send my people to their deaths against the dragon. I led my people back after King Thror began ranting about how I had been the one to summon the dragon to their home in revenge. First the Dwarf withholds my heirloom, second he disregards my very warning of what would happen if he continued to hoard gold, and thirdly he accuses me of bringing a fire-drake to his lands.” Thranduil says calmly and eloquently. “Thorin had called out for me to help them, but I didn’t. I left them there in the ruins of Dale and took my people back to safety. That is why Thorin hates my kind; I confess that maybe I should have given them shelter but would you house a people that would come to distrust you when their very own King is ranting and raving about the evils of Elves? So I left and let the Dwarves to their own devices. I am a patient being, I have waited near two hundred years for a chance to reclaim my gems,” Thranduil says as he casts his illusion spell and his face is back to its splendid state, “I can outwait Thorin Oakenshield.”

I can’t look away. This Elf, this King, is the very definition of enthrallment. I barely manage to crawl back to awareness and think about that tidbit of information. Thorin actually has a legit reason to distrust Elves. Thranduil acted like an asshole that day…but who I am to judge? I’ve never led a kingdom, never held the fates of hundreds of lives, families and children in my hands. Way above my pay grade as a foot soldier. Was it a good decision to leave an ally out to probably starve after an attack on their homeland? No, but if Thranduil did go and help how many of his people would have died? There is no right answer, only lesser evils.

“King Thranduil, the hobbit has something that he wishes to present as an alternative.” Bard, who’s watching from the side, says breaking the tense atmosphere.

Bilbo steps forward and reaches inside his waist coat in order to pull out a tied up leather sack. “I came to give you this.”

I release my breath as I see that it’s too big to hold the Ring. We all watch as Bilbo unties it and soon the tent is glowing with pure white light. The hobbit steps forward to place it on a small table.

“The Heart of the Mountain,” Thranduil remarks with surprise as he walks to the table to get a closer look, “the King’s Jewel.”

“And worth a King's ransom... how is this yours to give?” Bard looks surprised and gives Bilbo an questioning look.

“I took it as my one-fourteenth share of the treasure.” Bilbo says awkwardly while he shrugs in an attempt to appear nonplussed.

Gandalf suppresses a smile as he gives me a wink. I bite my cheek to stifle a laugh.

“Why do this? You owe us nothing.” Bard has his eyes on the swirling glowing jewel, amazed for a second before he turns away from it.

“I'm not doing it for you.” Bilbo snaps primly at the taller male. The hobbit sighs as he gives the King and Bard a beseeching look, “I know that Dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. They're suspicious and secretive, with the _worst_ manners you can possibly imagine.” Bilbo ends up saying with reluctant humor. “But they are also brave and kind, and loyal to a fault. I've grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.” Bilbo looks to the King as he points to the Arkenstone, “Now Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return, I do believe he will give you what you are owed.”  Bilbo looks to Gandalf and me, his face wrinkled with stressed, “There will be no need for war.”

“War,” Thranduil says with a sardonic twist of his lips, “is already upon us Halfling.” The King tilts his head, his hair swaying gracefully, towards Gandalf the Grey. “Why don’t you tell us once more about the threat?”

I don’t know whether I like this Elf or not. He is borderline rude, but the way he speaks and just his whole demeanor, I’ve never seen anything or anyone so damn charming. My spidey sense tells me that he’s good, that I can trust him, but his attitude is just so…snobby. Getting over the allure of him though gets me frowning at what he actually said. “What is he talking about Gandalf? Does this have anything to do with Dol Guldur?”

“More than you know my dear.” Gandalf sighs before looking at me with a somber gaze. “When Radagast and I entered the fortress we made to the tombs and what we found was terrible. The Ringwraiths have been broken free of their tombs. The blade that Radagast had found was our first clue. It was a trap, which was why it took me until now to return to you. The forces of Gundabad have been hiding in Dol Guldur, behind very powerful magic, and they mean to bring war to us.” Gandalf says strongly with a pointed look to Thranduil who barely controls the urge to not roll his eyes.

I ignore their silly looks and plant my hands on my hips. “You mean to tell me that there is an army of orcs after us?”

“Not just an army, _armies_.” Gandalf corrects me with a heavy tone. “I don’t need to tell you that these orcs have been bred specifically for warfare.”

“Why now? Why not before when Thorin was a world away from the mountain and an Elven army and me for that matter here already?” I ask with a headache starting to pound. I close my eyes and breathe in harshly before noticing that Gandalf falls silent. I open my eyes and look at him, not liking his grave demeanor at all.

Thranduil turns to give the wizard an expectant look, “Oh come on Mithrandir, don’t stop now.”

Gandalf gives Thranduil a peeved glance before looking guiltily to me, “Because…this quest undoubtedly pushed the Enemy’s timeline. Thorin was never meant to reach the mountain; Azog was tasked with killing him so that no Dwarf would be able to reclaim it.”

I glance at Bilbo, who looks just as god smacked as I do, before I exhale roughly. I see a chair and quickly sit down before I fall down. “The Enemy…Gandalf…are you sure? Why would the Enemy want Erebor? Of all the tales that I’ve heard he doesn’t want wealth but power.”

“He wants Erebor because of its strategic position. It is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that felled kingdom should rise again, well my dear,” Gandalf says with a pinched expression, “Rivendell, Lorien, The Shire and even Gondor itself will fall.”

I undo the leather strap holding back my hair and run scrape my nails against my skull. I can feel the build-up of grease mixing in with the sea of dust that it collected while inside the mountain. I close my eyes and process this mind fuck of a problem. “I need a drink.”

I hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric dragging against the tent floor and open my eyes to see that Thranduil has walked to stand next to me. I hear him move about, the sound of a cup being poured, before a dark leaf decorated cup is offered. I look up to see Thranduil’s arresting face focused on me and feel my cheeks blush. The Elf is too goddamn good-looking. I take the cup and gulp the liquor, feeling the warmth of alcohol course through my veins.

“As I told Mithrandir, where are these armies he speaks of? There is nowhere that they can hide in order to ambush us.” Thranduil says in a bored tone.

“I know that they are coming and we need to be prepared.” Gandalf says firmly.

I sit there, finishing the drink, in silence. Nothing I say will help at this point. I drain my cup and stand, “Bilbo we have to go back before they notice we’re gone.” I hand Thranduil my cup, my dirty tangled hair making me feel like a hag next to the Elf’s impeccable appearance.

“Constance?” Gandalf asks as I walk towards the exit.

“I have to go back to them…I have to try to make Thorin see reason. My mission, Gandalf, was to make sure that the Line of Durin breaks the sickness in order to claim the mountain. I thought that it was because Aulë didn’t want to see his children die out, and I was right partially. Tulkas, the sly fuck, knew that that wasn’t going to be enough reasoning to convince the Big Guy to bring me back to life and send me to Middle-Earth as Tulkas’ substitute Champion.” I say as I finally understand everything. “Tulkas was able to guess what was going on and argued that the mountain was very important in the struggle of Middle-Earth and needed to be kept out of the Enemy’s hand at all costs. That’s what he meant when he said that I needed to help the Line of Durin in order to fight against the darkness that is threatening this world. Thorin is worth more alive than dead; he will never let any dark force through these lands.” I explain to the males gathered in the tent. I look at each race with a determined look, “We need the Dwarves with their bravery and fearlessness here, just as we need the Elves of the Woodland Realm with their ferocity and agility and the race of Men for their spontaneity and creativity. It will take all of us, even the Maia,” I say to Gandalf, “to win this battle.”

Thranduil stays silent, his expression grave and contemplative, mirroring Bards own look. I walk by Gandalf, clasping his shoulder for a moment before walking out. Bilbo hurries after me and I race us back to the mountain.

Thorin needed to get back to his old self now.

We sneak back into the mountain and I see that everyone is gathered in the lower levels, next to the forges. Bilbo and I set off there and see Thorin clad majestically in Dwarven armor. Thorin doesn’t see me yet, as I’m standing in the shadows, but he does see Bilbo. Thorin is standing with his hands at his hips, face shadowed by the warm glow of fire at his back.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin calls out as the dwarves behind him are sorting through what I now see is the armory, “come here.”

Bilbo hesitates before going to the King. I don’t move, being able to see and hear Thorin perfectly with my sharper senses. They may not be as good as an Elf’s, but they’re not too shabby.

Thorin walks towards Bilbo, clanking as he steps, while holding an ivory looking metal in his hands. “You’re going to need this. Put it on.” Thorin says leaving no room for disobedience as he holds out the shirt.

I can’t see Bilbo’s expression but I can only imagine he’s looking perturbed as he awkwardly takes off his waist cost and light jacket.

Thorin lifts the shirt and looks at it admiringly, “This vest is made of silver steel. Mithril, it was called by my forebears. No blade can pierce it.”

The rest of the dwarves have stopped to witness the exchange and I get the feeling that this gift is a big deal. See its times like these where the actual sane Thorin makes an appearance that makes me so damn determined to save him.

Bilbo takes the vest and puts it on, chuckling at the fit, “I look absurd! I'm not a warrior, I'm a Hobbit.”

“It is a gift, a token of our friendship.” Thorin says as he finally notices me in the distance. I watch as his eyes take on a fogged gleam and I frown at the near unnoticeable change. Thorin stares at me before glancing to the dwarves in the armory, his voice lowering, “True friends are hard to come by.” Thorin pulls Bilbo roughly to the side and I can’t help but feel stung by what Thorin is insinuating. Thorin walks away from the armory but stops before he gets close to me, thinking that I can’t hear him. I can, but I have to keep very still and focus hard. “I have been blind... but now I begin to see. I am betrayed!”

I can see Bilbo clearly now, his face ashen with worry and fear. “Betrayed?” He croaks out.

“The Arkenstone,” Thorin says hoarsely as he leans closer to a paling hyperventilating Bilbo, “One of them has taken it.” Bilbo stills as Thorin looks to the side towards the armory, before glancing quickly to me. Bilbo nearly falls forward with relief at not being caught, and clamps his mouth shut as Thorin looks back to him. “One of them is **false**.” Thorin whispers as his voice starts to deepen.

I feel a tingling at the base of my spine, an image of Smaug flashing before my mind as I look at Thorin.

Bilbo shakes himself, clearing his throat, before leaning into Thorin. “Thorin...” Bilbo says in a cautious tone, “the quest is fulfilled. You've won the mountain. Is that not enough?”

Thorin continues as if Bilbo hadn’t even spoken, “Betrayed by my own kin...”

Bilbo shakes his head, “N-no, uh. You made a promise to the people of Lake Town.” Bilbo is breathing rapidly while trying to appear calm, “I-is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin, I was also there. I gave my word.”

Thorin looks dazed before focusing on Bilbo, “For that, I am grateful. It was nobly done.” Thorin inclines his head with thanks as he smiles, but then his smile fades and in its place settles a dark look. “But the treasure in this mountain does not belong to the people of Lake Town. This _gold_ is ours,” Thorin says as he steps back to the other side of the corridor, his neck curving in a disturbingly serpentine way, “and ours alone. On my life, I will not part with a _single_ coin. Not _one_ piece of it.” Thorin hisses, his head low and staring unnervingly at Bilbo, as the company walks in-between them.

Bilbo doesn’t take his eyes off Thorin, not while Thorin is looking back at him with madness. I guard over Bilbo, not giving the passing dwarves any mind. Thorin waits until the last dwarf passes before following them, giving me a hard stare as he passes me. I watch feeling saddened beyond belief as the great Thorin Oakenshield is reduced to a paranoiac greedy fool. Bilbo and I stay as quiet as shadows until Thorin and the rest are in the main entrance. I look at Bilbo and shake my head, “You were lucky this time Bilbo.”

Bilbo doesn’t say anything, as he pulls out a small little thing from his pants pocket. “I showed this to him, after he thought that it was the Arkenstone, and told him about planting it in my garden. Thorin, the real Thorin, was happy that I was going to have an oak tree so that I could always remember this quest. I miss him.”

I don’t say anything to that, what can I say? I miss Thorin also…we all do.


	9. Where a Woodland Sprite and a Mad Cousin face off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can see some elven warriors on their way here, but for now it’s just us. Question, does guerilla warfare mean anything to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, here's another chapter. Introducing another OC, Cúnor: Means bow-shaped, from website elf.namegeneratorfun.com Yeah I know, real original but it sounds nice. Anyways, I'm going to upload another chapter after this since it's super short. 
> 
> Also our foul mouthed heroine suffers a panic attack. Having known the effects of an attack personally, not pleasant to say the least, I don't want anyone thinking that I'm disregarding its severity. In this instance our heroine is a soldier, a child soldier who grew up in a war torn time. Anything that could effect the functionality of a soldier wasn't, in my opinion, acceptable. So with that in mind it seemed to me that her reaction to said panic attack is not healthy. Viewed as a weakness. All the stress is building up and her suppression is not healthy. Anyways just wanted to put that out there just in case. 
> 
> Thanks for hitting this fic up. 
> 
> Read, comment and enjoy.

**Where a Woodland Sprite and a Mad Cousin face off**

 

Through the night I can’t sleep as I feel Thranduil’s army march on the mountain. I see that idiocy runs freely between both Kings. I manage to get a few hours’ sleep before I give up and walk to the gate. I can see the rest of the company gathered here, only Dwalin and Balin awake keeping watch. I can see Balin giving me a grudgingly thankful look, a half-eaten apple in his hand. I give him the barest of nods and walk up the walk-up. The sky is still dark, stars twinkling, and I curse lowly at the faint shine of Elven armor. That stupid Elf, he really does mean to attack us at day break, and all for what, gems? I stare down at them, watching as they settle in their positions and don’t move an inch as the sky lightens slowly.

I am running out of time to help Thorin, if I haven't already. The feeling of something horrible dogging my steps has been plaguing me since the death of Smaug, it won't leave and it's flaying my nerves raw. I'm hungry, I'm paranoid and I wish that whatever the hell is going to happen happens soon; if nothing else but to have some kind of resolution or closure. The anticipation is driving me insane, hah just what we need in this Lonely Mountain. Two crazy people. Shit, I'm starting to lose it in here. I rub my face hard, trying to rub some sanity back in as the sun slowly starts to heat the air and my skin.

I stay up there on the self made balcony as the sun finally sets high in the sky. Thorin and the rest of the company join me within minutes. Kíli and Fíli stand by their uncle, looking like the princes that they are in their royal armor. Fíli gives me a quick glance before looking forward again, his expression guarded. I clench my jaw as Thranduil rides to the gates astride, unbelievingly, on a great elk with a great set of antlers; next to him is Bard looking even more somber if possible as they part the sea of elves like nothing. They break through the front line, and notice that Thranduil has changed out of his heavy robes and into a magnificent set of silver armor. I see from the corner of my eye as Thorin grabs a bow, arrow nocked, and sends it flying. The speed of it whistles through the air to hit the ground before Thranduil and Bard. The two stop and don’t get any closer.

“I will put the next one in between your eyes” Thorin says as he pulls up another arrow and has it aimed and ready straight at Thranduil. I can feel myself scowling as I step forward, the jeering of Khuzdul from the company loud and echoing down to the Elven King.

Thranduil smiles wonderfully before his striking face falls into one of anger. His hair is fluttering charmingly with the slight wind as he lowers his head, the diamond at the center of his circlet gleaming brightly. Behind him the army of Elves move as one, lowering their bows from their resting position and twirling them to an attack stance. The sound drowns out the Khuzdul, and the singing of bowstrings being pulled taunt with the weight of deathly precise arrows silence the Dwarves.

I hold my breath, amazed at the discipline of the Elves waiting to see what Thranduil will do. The dwarves duck down for cover, all except Thorin, who still has his arrow aimed at Thranduil, and myself. Bard glances warily to the Elven King, Thorin is breathing heavily, and I am barely breathing at all. Finally Thranduil lifts a gloved hand up and the army lowers their bows, return their arrows to their quivers and revert back to their resting stance. The message that Thranduil is conveying silently is pretty fucking loud and clear.

Don’t test him.

“We have come to tell you payment for your debt has been offered,” Thranduil says serenely before smirking, “and accepted.”

Thorin doesn’t lower his bow, his nephews and the rest slowly standing from their quick cover. “What payment? I gave you nothing. You have nothing.”

Thranduil raises his brows innocently before looking to Bard. The Bowman sighs and reaches into his coat and pulling out the shining Arkenstone. Bard glances at it before raising it high in the air, “We have this.”

Thorin finally lowers is bow, his face a mask of confusions as Fíli gasps next to him. “They have the Arkenstone.” The Crown Prince says with shock.

Kíli looks distraught, “Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house?!”

I watch as Thorin looks on uncomprehendingly at the pair below, his brows furrowing as he tries to understand. I feel my heart start to race, knowing that soon Thorin will know about what Bilbo did. I can feel sweat gathering at the base of spine as a faint ping on my mutant sonar prickles my awareness. I look away from Thorin and search the horizon. What was that?

“That stone belongs to the King!” Kíli rages, breaking me from my search.

Bard looks surprised, a look that is notably fake, “The King may have it,” he says with a shrug before tossing it up in the air, catching it quickly before storing back into his coat, “of our goodwill.” Bard looks up slowly, his voice deepening as his somber expression deepens, “But first he must honor his word.”

Thorin shakes his head, “They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse, a _filthy_ lie.” Thorin glares at Bard, “The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick!”

I feel Bilbo walk closer to me and brace myself for what’s about to happen. My chest is tightening, and I feel a bit unsteady as Bilbo faces off with a crazy Thorin. Another ping flashes through my mind but I push it back as Bilbo’s safety is now more than ever in danger. As keeper of the One Ring, for now, he needs to stay alive until after we deal with this. Surely Gandalf or Galadriel will know what to do with it.

“I-Its no trick.” Bilbo stutters out sounding scared and tired. “The stone is real,” Bilbo continues as he makes his way closer to the now shocked Thorin, “I gave it to them.”

I glance at Thranduil, who with his Elf eyes is watching every movement closely his thoughts hidden well, and Bard who is frowning heavily with concern over Bilbo.

Thorin lowers his head, his eyes nearly shutting with Bilbo’s betrayal. The Dwarf King turns, shaking his head, “ ** _You_** …”

Bilbo’s shoulders sag, a heavy frown etched onto his face, “I took it as my fourteenth share.”

Thorin looks to Bilbo with disbelief, “You would _steal_ from me.”

Bilbo shakes his head, “Steal from you? No. I may be a burglar, but I like to think of myself as an honest one.” I can tell that the attempt of humor that Bilbo is going for falls flat. The ping is growing stronger but I can’t take my attention off Thorin and Bilbo. “I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.” Bilbo adds.

“Against your claim?” Thorin says amused, huffing out a faint laugh before tilting his head, “Your claim…you have _no_ claim over me you miserable _rat_!” Thorin shouts, throwing his bow to the ground as he stalks towards Bilbo with murder in his eyes. He stops abruptly as I intercept him.

I walk further into Thorin’s view, blocking the hobbit from his sight, “Don’t.” I give a hard stare to the rest of the dwarves, making sure that they don’t jump in. My adrenaline is starting to flow, my legs twitching from the rush. I can feel a bead of sweat trailing down my neck; shit what is wrong with me? It’s not even hot today but I feel like I’m in a sauna. Thorin glares at me before looking around me to set his menacing gaze on Bilbo. The hobbit steps back at the threat of violence he sees in the Dwarf King’s eyes.

“I was going to give it to you,” Bilbo explains with a pained expression, “many times I wanted to but…”

“But what, thief?” Thorin says through clenched teeth.

“You are changed, Thorin.” Bilbo says, gaining courage and stepping forward, a look of renewed anger on his face. Bilbo points to the ground, as his voice steadily rises, “The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word, would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!”

Thorin blinks in and out of focus before speaking, his voice brittle, “Don’t you speak to me of _loyalty_.” Thorin looks about his surroundings before snarling at the hobbit, “Throw him from the rampart!”

I watch as the dwarves step away in shock from Thorin. Their expressions horrified. Bilbo looks gutted and Balin looks like his heart is breaking. I look down below and see Thranduil’s surprise and Bard looking like his very own child is up here with the Mad King. “Thorin, stop this.” I hiss, trying to get through to him.

Thorin gives me a dark look, looking enraged at the disobedience before turning to Fíli. “Do you not hear me?!” He shouts as he grabs Fíli’s arm and forcibly drags him to where Bilbo is. The dwarves shout in protest and I can see Fíli planting his feet before tearing his arm out of Thorin’s grasp. Thorin looks confused and lost as he stares at us before snarling, “I will do it myself.” Thorin lunges to the hobbit and grabs him, “Curse you!” He yells as the dwarves rush to tear them apart. Fíli is yelling and I am panicking. “Curse be the wizard who forced you on this company!”

I realize three things as they dwarves scramble to stop Thorin’s madness. One, that while everyone has been moving to intercept Thorin I haven’t moved an inch; two, that I am breathing too hard and too fast to be healthy; three, that Dwalin is grabbing my hand in a near crushing hold, stilling the tremors that's wracking my body. I think…I think that I’m having a panic attack. I can’t seem to focus on one thing, the colors swirling about to become one big blur, and I can’t get my lungs to get their fill of air. I feel too hot and too cold. All I hear is one big mesh of screams and shouts and my mind is a flurry of white noise. I try to breathe but it only makes it worse. I can’t breathe, I can’t…

Just then, a loud and terrible voice booms overhead like a dark cloud. “If you don't like my burglar, then please, don't damage him! Return him to me!” Gandalf is here and he is pissed.

“Lass, look at me.” Dwalin is saying calmly, his free hand grabbing my hand and placing it on his chest. “Breathe with me.”

I stare unseeingly at him, not understanding until he says it again. I clumsily try to match him, hearing Gandalf speaking in the distance but I can’t make out the words. The rush of my blood is drowning everything out. I see Dwalin’s lips move and focus on him. I feel my hand go up and down slowly and in rhythm, in and out, in and out. I force my lungs to match his pace, painfully dragging oxygen to my starving lungs. Soon my breathing slows, and I’m left shaking. I see Bofur and Fíli hustle Bilbo away from Thorin, their faces ashen. Bilbo is shaking and I can see him fighting back tears, and I get angry at myself for freezing like that. I have seen worse things; I have been in worse situations…to panic like that…Jesus Christ. I need to toughen up. Sounds come rushing back and all I hear is Thorin yelling to Gandalf about never trusting a wizard again before hurling an insult to Bilbo.

“…Shire-Rat!”

I don’t realize I’m up and moving until I’m clutching Thorin’s chest plate and hauling him up until his feet leaves the ground. The dwarves rush at me and I can see the madness glowing from Thorin’s eyes, “Back the fuck off!” I yell to the company. I welcome the anger, the heated emotion driving away my panic. I shake Thorin, “Enough! You, King Thorin, have said enough!”

“Put me down traitor!” Thorin hisses at me.

“Traitor?” I hiss back. “I’ll show you who the fucking traitor is.”

I move my foot sharply, pushing the ground beneath the company to side to open a path and push off with a burst of speed back into the mountain. I can hear the dwarves shout after us, I can feel Thorin begin to kick wildly but I ignore all that as I move through the mountain like a woman possessed. I locate the chamber that we had stumbled upon when we first entered the mountain. I drop Thorin but don’t give him time to get his bearings before gripping his fur covered shoulder and turning him around by force. Thorin fights against me before stilling at the sight of the countless dwarf corpses. “They died here, without hope, because of the greed of their King; the same damn greed that’s eating away at your mind! You call me a traitor? Look at yourself! You are doing the same to your friends, the dwarves who didn’t hesitate in helping you get your home back! Worse you are doing this to your nephews! You are condemning them to die because you cannot see beyond the fucking gold! You, _King Under the Mountain_ , are the traitor.” I let him go and push him away from me. I watch as he stumbles before catching his balance, he turns furiously at me and I open my mouth to speak before the faint ping suddenly becomes a loud alarm in my mind. I close my mouth and turn, seeing through the earth that an army is marching towards us. I focus on it, ignoring Thorin, and see that it can’t be the orc armies that Gandalf was speaking of. Who could it be? I turn to Thorin, who is watching me closely, and remember that fucking raven and his cryptic ‘not for much longer’ warning. “Who did you call for?” Thorin doesn’t say anything. “Who was that raven for?” Thorin refuses to answer, only grinning smugly. I leave him there, with the corpses, and rush back to the entrance. I can feel Thorin move after me, but he is nowhere close to catching up to me. I move through walls, opening holes big enough for me to pass through until I’m running towards the company still on the ledge.

“Where is Thorin?” Dwalin asks as he sees me running.

I don’t bother answering, the dwarves diving out of my way before I trample them. I run and hurdle up on the ledge before jumping off. I hear them yell after me, Dwalin in particular calling a mad fool, before I’m pulling up a rock tower to land on. Thranduil is watching me a stunned expression, his elk moving back in fright, while Bard’s mouth is open wide as his horse neighs nervously. Gandalf and Bilbo, who have made their way over after Thorin proceeded to lose his shit, watch me unfazed as I lower the tower. Once I’m eye level with Thranduil, I turn to look at him, “There’s an army approaching from the east.”

Thranduil lowers his brows, jaw firming, and shouts out a sharp melodious order to his army. The elves move efficiently to the east and Thranduil moves his elk closer to me. “So the wizard was right.”

“It’s an army yeah, but not an orc army. Thorin sent out a raven the other day, he didn’t share with me what that raven was for. It’s only now that I connected the dots that he called for reinforcements.” I tell the Elven King as the sound of metal and marching reaches us. As the army crests the eastern horizon I sense Gandalf making his way closer to us. Thranduil doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react at all at seeing the line of soldiers. “Recognize them Gandalf?”

“Ironfoot.” He replies as the army marches down to the valley.

Their spears create the illusion that they army is tall, but I see that these must be the Dwarves of the Iron Hills. The same dwarves that refused to help Thorin in his quest. I notice a single figure moving ahead of the army. The single rider is atop a weird looking creature. “Is that a pony?”

“No,” Thranduil drawls out in a voice that’s deep purr, “it is a wild boar.”

He can’t be serious, a wild boar? I glance at Thranduil, and see him staring ahead with a slight frown.

“Who is that?” Bilbo asks to no one in particular. “He doesn’t look very happy.” He remarks sarcastically.

“It is Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills, Thorin’s cousin.” Gandalf informs in a grave manner.

“Are they alike?” Bilbo asks with unease.

“I’ve always found Thorin more reasonable of the two.” Gandalf answers.

I roll my eyes and stare out to the sea of iron clad dwarves. There are hundreds of them marching towards us. Soon enough Dáin comes close enough for me to make out his features. He’s a thick set dwarf, armored in iron and gold, with a thick artistically groomed red and silvered beard. His boar is also armored alike, the brittle a masterfully mix of iron and gold. Dáin nudges his boar to a slow trot with iron toed boots, a heavy fur cape draping down his back and covering the rear end of his fat hairy boar. The dwarf doesn’t wear a crown, but a heavy looking helmet that arches over his eyes and has a single iron strip down his nose. I stare at him and notice with a jolt that he’s fashioned two tusks into his beard. Dwarven fashion, I swear what is it about the beards?

Dáin stops a few yards in front of us and smiles rather boyishly. “Good morning!” He greets gamely, smiling widening. Dáin doesn’t wait for a reply as he leads his boar to a jutting rock and comes to a stop. His army stops just as efficiently as the elven one; Dáin is stilling smiling that boyish smile, somehow genuine with an army at his back. “How are we all?” He asks not waiting for a reply as he continues on. “I have a wee proposition,” said with a thick brogue, “if you don't mind giving me a few moments of your time. Would you consider...” he says with that same smile before shouting rather angrily, “JUST SODDING OFF! All ye, right now!”

Well, zero to a hundred real quick. I am fascinated by him. I rather like him, mercurial moods and all. My spidey sense doesn’t go off at his presence so he’s good.

“Come now, Lord Dáin…” Gandalf calls out as he walks toward the front, his staff being used as a walking stick.

“Gandalf the Grey,” Dáin greets before viewing out to the mixture of Elves and Men, “Tell this rabble to leave or I'll water the ground with their blood.”

I’ve never been called rabble before, I don’t know whether to laugh or scowl.

Gandalf walks closer, his voice urgent, “There is no need for war between Dwarves, Men, and Elves.” Gandalf taps the ground with his staff, trying to reason with the warrior dwarf, “A legion of Orcs march on the mountain. Stand your army down.”

Dáin scrunches his face, offended that Gandalf would say such a thing. “I will not stand down before any Elf!” Dáin shouts as he points his war hammer at Thranduil. “Not least this faithless Woodland Sprite!”

I can’t help but glance at Thranduil, wanting to see how he takes that insult. It occurs to me that I’m finding this too funny, especially since there are two armies facing off, but seriously who calls someone a woodland sprite? I take in Thranduil’s expression and turn away quickly, clamping my mouth shut so tight that it feels like my lips are doing their damnedest to fuse together. I inhale so hard, stifling the bubble of laughter, that for one horrifying second I swear that I’m going to snort. Thranduil looks so fucking mad that it’s fucking hilarious. I think it’s the one time that Thranduil doesn’t look heart-stopping beautiful. It’s in his show of near feral anger, where I legit think that Thranduil will elf jump his way to Dáin and rip out his throat with his sparkling white teeth, that I can see the resemblance to Prince Legolas. He’s so mad that I can hear him breathe heavily through his nostrils, like a bull ready to charge. I keep my gaze away before I accidently laugh and have Thranduil snarl at me. I don’t think I would survive the hilarity of it, and also the danger. I look to a safer target, Dáin, who is still arguing with Gandalf.

“He wishes nothing but ill upon my people! If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I'll split his pretty head open!” Dáin yells, his voice actually cracking on a high note. “See if he's still smirking then!” Dáin yells as Thorin and the rest cheer him on.

I glance back to Thranduil, bracing myself, and see him actually smirking at the raving dwarf. Of course there would be dimples appearing on his cheeks, why was I expecting anything less than perfection? “He's clearly mad like his cousin.” The Elven King says sharply, blue eyes narrowing in challenge.

Dáin laughs heartily, “Ya here that lads? We're on! Let's give these bastards a good hammering!” The Lord of the Iron Hills leads his boar away from the jutting rock and rides back to his army, a dwarf yelling something in Khuzdul that has the rest of the army lifting their shields and giving out a war cry.

The Elven army needs no command from their King, moving swiftly into a position to attack. The archers move quickly to the back as the infantry moves into the front line. They line up the golden barricade and level their spears atop.

While all this is happening I feel something moving disturbing quickly through the south eastern horizon. I turn to look sharply, eyes flickering in panic at the mountains, and curse at what I see. “Stop!” I turn on my platform to look south east, my brow furrowed in disbelief, “Turn around! Something’s coming through the mountains!” The Dwarven army falls silent as an impossibly loud cracking is heard, followed by deep growls. “Gandalf, what the fuck is it that I’m seeing?” I say as I move my pillar to the east, moving elves aside without thought.

“Were-worms.” Gandalf says with shock.

Were what? I’m spitting out curses as I raise my arms to try to crush the massive creature tunneling its way out the mountain, but it’s like the creature knows and moves faster than I can command the earth. Suddenly a gigantic grey worm bursts out of the mountain, its mouth opened wide with innumerable teeth as it swallows the earth that it dug up. I can feel the vibrations as two more pop up, their screeches and growls terrifying. This is somehow worse than Smaug. At least with the dragon I know that it had intelligence. These monsters have no such thing. This is straight out of a nightmare, how in the hell can these monsters even exist?

I’m pulling up two hulking towers of earth, not wasting a second of action, and send them crashing into one worm. The worm twists and clamps its jaw on it and begins to eat it. How the fuck is this even possible? I curse and pull up another tower, the edge sharpened, and send it to where I can only guess is its head. I impale it, but by then the others have retreated back into the ground creating pathways for the orc armies. The Were-worm that I impaled wiggles weakly moving out of the mountain before finally stilling, accomplishing its mission. The tunnel that it had dug is cleared and the armies of orcs are pouring out like ants. I turn just as a loud horrible, and familiar, voice yells out. I can’t make out what Azog is saying, but I really don’t need to; not when a resonating war trumpet is ringing out as a directional flag stand is rolled out and starts to signal the army below.

There’s a moment of pure silence in the valley before Dáin gives out a war cry. “The horde of hell are upon us!” Dáin fiercely calls out to his people, his boar racing with his army to move to face this threat. “To battle! To battle sons of Durin!”

I look back to the unmoving Elven army, to a horrified Gandalf, and to the dwarves standing watch at the gate of Erebor. I look as Thorin turns away and walks into the mountain. I stand unbelieving at the depth of Thorin's cowardice as Gandalf yells at Thranduil to do something. I look away from Erebor and to the Elven King, who looks at the horde of Orcs, before watching the dwarves of the Iron Hills slam their iron shields into the ground, one line kneeled and the other standing on their backs to form an impressive barricade. Thranduil meets my questioning gaze and for a second I fear that the elf will do nothing.

Just as the last dwarf finishes the barricade and the orcs close in on them, I feel the Elven army jump over the dwarves to attack; their swords singing lethally as they’re pulled from their sheaths and plunging into orc filth. I grin at the Elven King before turning with my own war cry and pull up a volley of spears, plunging them into the orc army. I briefly hear Bard yell out, in a sea of combat, and see the Men of Lake-Town filter in between the stunningly fast and deadly movements of the Elves and the unapologetic combat of the Dwarves. I’m in the middle of pulling up a spear when I feel another one of those fucking monsters, but this time coming from the ruined city of Dale.

“Constance!” Gandalf yells, feeling no doubt the disturbance. “Azog is trying to cut us off!”

I nod, “I’ll go!” I shout as I leave the battle field, moving the earth as fast as I can and reach the city within a minute. The war trumpet of the white orc resounds throughout the battle field as I rush into the city. I can see that while the Were-worm is tunneling its way towards the city, another ground force is marching to the city. This battle had been meticulously thought out, leaving no room for failure; unfortunately for the Enemy, he didn’t count on two Maia’s being here. “Evacuate! Find a hiding spot!” I yell as loud as I can to the civilians as the ground begins to shake. I push my pillar down until I’m ground level, ignoring the rush of elves that stayed there to guard the city, and bend my knees. I close my eyes and focus, seeing as the worm eats up the earth letting the army behind it march with no problems. I am not letting this army through; we’ll be slaughtered if I don’t kill them all. I have never done such a complicated campaign with my abilities, but go big or go home.

I breathe deeply before I begin, moving quickly so the Were-worm doesn’t out run me. I pull down spikes into the tunnel, trying to pin the creature, and watch as the worm immediately starts to eat through them. I keep pulling down spikes and collapse the tunnel from the other end. The earth crumbles, killing the army but the damn were-worm is still fighting me. I grunt as I move the earth as fast as I can, trying to out move the worms mouth and slithering body. Finally, just as I can sense the other orc army heading towards us as I kill the worm. Dale is left looking like an earthquake hit, but at least that’s one horde of orcs down. I look up to see the still faces of the elves staring at me as I stand to my full height. I find myself reverting back to when I was Lieutenant back on Earth. “This city and the civilians aren’t safe yet. That’s one army down, there’s another entering the city.” I point to where I can feel the orcs, “Archers get to high ground and pick them off. The rest of you,” I say as I feel my armor begin to glow again, lighting up their beautiful faces and revealing a blood thirst that would rival any dwarf, “with me. Let’s remind these fuckers just why they don’t wanna mess with the Elves of the Woodland Realm.” I feel my power rising, almost like I’m leveling up as any exhaustion that I have is being erased. My side is still aching from where Smaug clipped me, but it’s reduced to a dull throb. I feel the elves scale the walls and the rest line up at my back. I look out and see the orcs and three trolls coming closer. “The fuck do they have strapped on their backs?”

“Catapults.” An elf answers me as he walks to my side. “Those trolls are bred for war they know no mercy and are relentless.”

“What’s your name solider?” I ask as I analyze the situation.

“Cúnor.” The brunette elf answers, his eyes on my armor before quickly looking to me.

The elf has a thin scar running down the right side of his face, bisecting his dark eyebrow and ending at his high cheekbone. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen an elf with such a noticeable scar. I like him immediately. “Cúnor, pleased to meet you I’m Constance; now that we’ve got that out of the way we can get down to the nitty gritty. I’ll take on the trolls. Those catapults aren’t worth shit since I’m here. I need you to have my back and provide cover from any arrows thrown my way. The rest of the infantry needs to force these fuckers back, while Bard brings his fighters to help you out.” I pause as I look out to the valley through the earth. “I can see some elven warriors on their way here, but for now it’s just us. Question, does guerilla warfare mean anything to you?” Cúnor shakes his head no. “It’s a fighting technique that's perfect for our size. Basically it’s technique for a small unit of fighters against a much larger fighting force. Guerilla warfare focuses on using our mobility and terrain to ambush the larger unwieldy force. It keeps the larger force unbalanced and unable to track a pattern and allows us to hit and run as we please.”

Cúnor smirks, turning his scarred face positively savage, “Yes, I believe we’ll have no problem adapting to that fighting technique.”

I snicker as I reach out and turn the rocks that are stored on the trolls back into sand. “Good. Archers,” I say with a raised voice in case that they can’t hear me over the sounds of war, “when you run out of arrows, guerilla warfare the hell out of these assholes! Keep them confused about where you’ll come in to attack. Use all of your talents to weave in and out. Leave none alive!” The trolls give a war cry and I narrow my gaze on them, “Cúnor, keep up and keep your knees bent it’s going to be a bumpy ride…Oorah!” I take off like a bullet, Cúnor more than keeping up with me, as I rush the orc front lines. I don’t falter my pace as I send a row of spikes up to kill a good chunk of orcs before pulling up the earth up and over the army. I hear Cúnor’s sword whistling behind me as he cuts down orc arrows, his balance perfect as I create my walk way to the trolls. I pull up a powerful spike of a pillar from the ground and pin a troll to the earth, the stone coated with a burst of black blood from the orcs head.

One down two to go.

I take down the other troll no problem, but the remaining troll catches on to me and is running towards me. It’s huge, almost to my eye level, and fucking ugly. It lets loose a powerful roar and I get a crazy idea in my head. “Cúnor,” I shout back to the elf, “I’m going to be jumping off and onto the troll. It’s time to get a little hands on! You can come if you want or jump off.” I don’t wait for the brunette to answer as I put on a burst of speed before jumping off the rock bridge. I’m falling through the air and am left with only my eyes for seeing as I’m disconnected to the earth before I slam into the troll.

The troll gives out a pained screech as we crash into the ground, crushing of couple of orcs in the process. The troll is trying to get up to its feet, but I deliver a swift punch to the side of its head to daze it. I see Cúnor jumping down after me and land in the crater with a grunt.

“I’ll cover you.” He says as he draws his bow and arrow.

I don’t answer as the troll gets up and I kick at its knee, bringing it back down. I pull up a rock fist and slam it onto the troll. I hear a squelching noise and know that the trolls have been taken out of the game. I stomp the ground and send rows and rows of spikes up to my surrounding area killing orcs, buying Cúnor and I time to get out of the crater. I reach the crest of the crater and see elves running in and out of sight, their blades shining brightly as they cut down orcs. I feel more trolls and curse, “Dammit there’s two more!” I tell the brunette as I turn and see them crouch down, orcs climbing up their sides to fill the catapults. I raise up four thick walls of stone, pulling them up until they tower over the monsters and cast a shadow over Dale, my arms shaking with the strain before slapping my hands together with a hoarse shout. I crush the trolls before they let loose an aerial attack.

“The orcs are flooding the city!” Cúnor yells to me as he grips my shoulder to steady me.

I shake my head to clear it and nod, “Got it! Let’s move!”

We rush towards the inner city and hear the fear filled screams of the people of Lake-Town. Soon Bard is joining us, his horse coming to a stop from its gallop. “My children, where are my children?” He shouts as he dismounts and pulls out his sword.

“I haven’t seen them!” I answer as I pull up several spears of rock to hover over me.

“I saw them!” A woman shouts as she runs for safety. “They were in the old market.”

“Go!” I tell him. “We’ve got this!”

Bard nods before rushing into the throng of people.

“Do we ‘got this’?” Cúnor asks as he pulls out his sword.

“What you tired already?” I smirk as I send a couple of spears to a group of orcs that turned the corner. I pull out my mobile weapons and have them hovering over me again, tainted with black blood. “Oorah.” I tell the elf.

Cúnor stares at me for a beat before returning my smirk, “Oorah.”

 

 


	10. The King has Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you follow me,” I ask, “one last time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two more chapters left. 
> 
> This one here is in Thorin's POV. Had to expand on his little moment when he frees himself of the gold sickness. 
> 
> Read, comment and enjoy.

**The King has Returned**

The cries of battle reach even here, the center of my kingdom. I sit on my throne, staring about at the scattered riches of Erebor and feel at ease knowing that it’s protected. I hear Dwalin’s heavy footsteps climbing up the steps and turn to watch my subjects approach.

“Since when do we forsake our people?” He tells me, voice rough by anger. “Thorin,” Dwalin says as he walks up to the throne, face marked by disappointment, “they are _dying_ out there.”

I know that they are dying, that is why I had sent for them, to protect Erebor’s riches. And yet…I doubt that that is enough to guard it. “There are holes beneath holes under this mountain…” I tell Dwalin. “Places we can fortify,” I tell him as I look around the throne room, paranoid that orc scum may have made its way into my kingdom, “shore up. Make safe.” I pull myself up from my throne and close in on my royal guard. “Yes…yes…that is it! We must move the gold further underground into safety.” I tell him with fervor to get started. I turn away before Dwalin shouts at my back, to me his King.

“Did you not hear me!” Dwalin shouts, anger coloring his words. “Dáin is surrounded.” Dwalin lowers his voice, face grim. “They are being be slaughtered Thorin.”

I frown at his show of insolence but forgive him, emotion robbing him of respect for his King. “Many die in war,” I tell him, “life is cheap.” I am wasting time convincing him to follow me when I can be moving the gold to better protected strong holds; the trials of being King Under the Mountain. “But a treasure such as this,” I say wanting him to see, to understand, “cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend.”

Dwalin stares at me in wonder, shaking his head at me, “You sit here, in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.”

I stare at him, stunned. I cannot believe that he would say that to me, that he would speak to me in that manner. I back away from him, a dark feeling welling up inside me. “Do not speak to me as if I were some lowly dwarf...” I whisper in a broken voice, heart racing and mind pulsing with pain “…as if I were still Thorin _Oakenshield_.” I can feel my hands shake before I reach for my sword, pulling it out to swing madly at Dwalin, “I AM YOUR KING!”

Dwalin stares at me, eyes filling with tears, aghast. He shakes his head, “You were **always** my King.” Dwalin says brokenly. “You used to know that once. But you cannot see what you have become.”

“ _Go_ ,” I hiss as I step away from him, a fear rushing through me, “Get out before I kill you.” I murmur to Dwalin. Dwalin stares at me as if I were a stranger and not his King before walking out.

I watch as he leaves the chamber, footsteps echoing in the throne room until I am alone. I stare out to the sea of gold and feel hot under my armor. My arms are shaking and I flee the throne room, a nausea overtaking me, to enter the Golden Hall that used to be the Hall of Kings. The gold, where Smaug was nearly drowned in, has set and throws a bright sheen throughout the large hall. I walk down it, my footsteps resonating as my mind throbs with pain. I can feel sweat gathering on my neck before I hear a chorus of sinister whispers in my ear. I jerk and turn to look about me, wondering if Dwalin had followed me, seeking revenge. I see no one but cannot feel at ease. I hear them, the whispers in the dark, treacherous as they float about in the air. I turn about in place, turning to see who is hiding in the shadows.

_…A treasure such as this…cannot be counted in lives lost…A sickness lies upon that treasure…A blind ambition of a mountain king…I AM YOUR KING...This gold is ours…is oursssss…ours alone…I will not part…with a ssssssingle coin…He cannot see beyond his own desire……as if I were some lowly dwarf lord…._

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the haunting murmurs. I feel cornered, willilng away the whispers as I look to the golden floor, chest heaving as I try to get my bearings but the whispers…they won’t stop!

_…Thorin Oakenshield…A sickness that drove your grandfather mad….This is Thorin…son of Thrain…son of Thror…._

**I am not my grandfather…**

I jerk my head as the pain within feels as if it is cracking my skull. All around me I see gold light, blinding me…making my eyes burn.

_…You are the heir to the throne of Durin…They are dying out there…Take back Erebor…Dáin is surrounded…They are dying…Take back your homeland…They are dying…You are changed Thorin_

**I am not my grandfather.**

I heave as sweat mats my hair to my neck. I can hear Dwalin’s warning of my cousin’s fate echoing in my battered mind. I feel as if there’s a battle taking place within me, the sight of the gold pulling me in even as something within me pushes back. The gold…the gold…the gold is important…isn’t it?

_…Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor…You are condemning them to die because you cannot see beyond the fucking gold!_

**I am not my grandfather!**

I stumble back as a searing pain races through my head. I cry out in pain before I still, there…a shadow prowling at the corner of my eye. I turn, the heavy robes slowing my movements, and I see with horror that Smaug is still alive. He’s under the golden floor, his spiked tail curving maliciously as he surrounds me…mocking me. I follow it, chest feeling tight as I turn and hear the wizard’s voice ring loudly throughout the hall.

_...This treasure will be your death…_

I turn, trying to see where he is, when the floor rises to swallow me whole. I am sinking, escape being lost to me as I watch myself slide deeper down to join the winged beast. I am unable to move as I watch myself being lost within the gold. I see myself and feel as I scramble to get a grip and pull myself up but I can’t. I’m screaming, horrified as I slide down until the gold closes around me and I am no more.

**I AM NOT MY GRANDFATHER!**

I scream as an agonizing spasm blinds me of everything but pain before I’m left feeling exhausted. I drop to my knees, drenched in sweat and chest heaving. I stare at the golden floor, unseeing as I feel lighter than I can remember in years, cleaner, as if I had fought off an infection. My bones ache, fevered, soaked in sweat from the furred coats, and my head tender aching from the weight of the crown. I grab the crown, nails scratching against my sore skin and hurriedly pull it off, flinging it towards the cursed golden floor. “I am not my grandfather…” I croak out, throat tight from screaming, to the empty hall.

No I am not my grandfather, but I see now that I was on the path to becoming him. I feel bile rising up my throat, but I resist the urge to vomit. I push myself to stand and I hurriedly wrench off my armor and royal garb, the need to be myself paramount. I have not been Thorin Oakenshield for a long time…too long. As I wrench the last piece of jewelry off my fingers, the memories of what I had done, of the dishonorable accusations that I had spoken drive me to my knees once more and rob my of breath. Oh Mahal what have I done? The sound of battle, of dwarves and elves fighting together, reach me and I grit my teeth in shame; enough…enough of this shameful behavior. Kneeling here would not resolve anything, would not restore the honor of my people. I stand to my feet and roll my shoulders, the weight of my disgrace heavy, and walk away from the cursed Golden Hall only taking a sword with me.

I walk towards the gate, seeing the dwarves that had shown nothing but loyalty, honor and a willing heart waiting with bleak faces. I walk towards them and see as one by one they notice me. They look upon me with trepidation and the weight of shame deepens. I am the cause of that, not elves, not orcs, but I…Thorin Oakenshield. I steel myself as I see Kíli look up and take notice of me. His face darkens with anger as he stands.

“I will not hide,” Kíli calls out his voice hard with rage, “behind a wall of stone, while others fight our battles for us!” By that point Kíli is shouting, his frame quivering with barely restrained violence. Kíli shakes his head, his enraged expression mixed with distraught as he walks towards me. “It is not in my blood Thorin.”

I stop in front of my nephew and look at him with sane eyes, “No…it is not.” I place my hand on Kíli’s shoulder, “We are Sons of Durin,” I can see his lips trembling as realization comes to him that I am free of the gold sickness, “and Durin’s Folk do not flee from a fight.” I smile at my sister son, hoping beyond hope that I have a chance to be forgiven. I feel heartened to see relief and happiness in his weary eyes and pull him towards me. I place my forehead upon his, happy beyond words to having a second chance to embrace my family without dark traitorous thoughts. I pat his shoulder tightly before turning to walk to the rest of the company. “I have no right, to ask this of any of you.” I look to them meeting Fíli’s guarded gaze and Balin’s strained gaze. It pains me that I have caused this, seeing Bombur looking gutted as he watches me or even Ori staring at my progress with caution. I swallow the guilt and press on, “Will you follow me,” I ask, “one last time?” I see Fíli’s mischievous smile and Balin grinning with hope. As one the dwarves lift their weapons with grins and smiles, and how was I ever blessed with such great friends?

Mahal bless them all.

Thinking of Mahal, I close my eyes as the memory of calling Constance a traitor rushes to the forefront of my mind. I would have to have words with her, after we send Azog to hell. I tell them of my plan to break through the sealed gate before turning to the wall. “Hurry, Dáin needs our help.” I say as we rush to the gates. “Bombur,” I call out to the dedicated dwarf, “sound off the battle call.” Bombur grabs my arm and nods once, his eyes bright with relief and determination. He takes off in a sprint and I go to the front to join my heirs. We hear the orc war trumpet echo out, and I feel for now the guilt being pushed back as the song of battle surges through me. The war trumpet rings out ominously before the Horn of Durin drowns it out, silencing the battle below.

“Ready?” I call out.

“Ready!” The answering calls reach me.

“Release it!” I signal.

We had hauled up the Golden Bell of Erebor and rigged it into a battering ram. We cut the taunt ropes and chains pulling it back for tension and watch as it rushes forward and crash the sealed gate to pieces, ringing out alongside the Horn of Durin. The sight of the dwarves standing against an army of orcs fills my blood with anger as I lead the charge, as I should have done since the beginning. I clench my jaw, not allowing another thought distract me. I am here now and I will see to it that my disgraceful behavior is redeemed. I see Dáin, his Mohawk bright against the sunlight. He’s splattered with the blood of our enemies, but he sends a boyish grin to me as he has his army reform the line. I can see the golden gleam of elven armor dancing about the battlefield, beheading orcs as they go. I can honestly admit that I am glad to see them, that Thranduil did what I could not. I cross the distance and reach my cousin who raises his war hammer in the air, his fire colored hair bright as if heralding our arrival.

“To the King!” Dáin yells out victoriously.

I run forward determined to become the King worthy of them.


	11. Wizards, Elves and Mutants oh my!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course Thorin would go straight into a life threatening situation with no back-up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I read this over and did my best to edit. If there are any mistakes, my bad. This story is almost over, just got one more chapter. Thank you for all those who have read, subscribed and kudo'd this fic. 
> 
> Read, comment and enjoy.

**Wizards, Elves, and Mutants oh my!**

 

The rhythm of the fight is comforting. It’s a beat that I’ve spent nearly half my life in tune with. This right here feels as close as home, on Earth, that I will ever get to feel.  Not spending time with dwarves or hobbits, not trying to ease tensions between races, not making friends; this, fighting for my life is home. The sadness, anger and anxiety from before with Thorin and Bilbo fades; the discovery of the One Ring and the Dark Lord lurking about in the shadows, the blood feud between Thorin and Azog, all of that vanishes like smoke on a windy day. My mind is quiet like a lake, the waters still and cold as I send my weapon through an orcs head. I watch its mutilated corpse drop to the ground with no feeling, already spinning my stained spear in the air to launch at another orc without pause.

I can see the brunette elf behind me, his armor catching the glint of the sun as he slashes at his enemy, knowing that he’s got my six covered. We fight our way from the outskirts and further into the ruined city, the ground becoming flooded with orc blood, joined by more elves as we leave a trail of corpses behind us. We break through into the main court yard and see Gandalf fighting, his staff twirling in the air and sword gleaming with blood. He smacks his wooden staff into an orcs stomach, pushing the creature back from the force of it before plunging his sword into its throat. The wizard doesn’t stay long enough to see the orc stumble to the ground, choking on black blood, before he selects another target. Bilbo is running in and out the fray, slashing Sting at the enemies’ unprotected thighs cutting their femoral arteries, the blue hue that the blade is emitting bright against the blood that’s dripping down its sharp edge.

I can feel the elk galloping into the city and turn to look towards the bridge, connecting Dale to Erebor, to see Thranduil riding quickly to us. The great elk lowers his head and captures about a dozen orcs in its antlers so that Thranduil can behead them in one wide swing. I watch, even as I send my spears hurtling into the enemy, as an arrow falls the great elk and Thranduil’s thrown from his seat. I’m stepping forward, intent to help the King, before Cúnor stops me.

“My King can handle himself! We need to focus on riding this filth from the city!”

I look back to Thranduil, pulling my spears back into the air, and see the Elven King stand calmly in a circle of orcs. I curse as I kill orcs, but keep my eyes on the King. Cúnor’s right, Thranduil can handle himself. I see him move with an unnatural speed, handling two swords expertly as he spins. Within minutes he’s surrounded by Orc corpses. With Thranduil’s arrival comes more elven warriors and I look away, confidant that Dale with not be lost.

Thinking to speed up the clearing of this section I look around and nod to myself, coming to a decision. “Everyone,” I yell, “Get down!” I drive my fist to the ground, forcing all my weight into my crouch and move the earth. The ground crumbles into a crater as I send a shockwave throughout the city. Orcs fall, their weapons dropping from their grips, and I see the elven warriors quickly jump into action. I have spikes rushing up through the ground and soon we have the majority of the orc force killed in Dale. The rest, I can see, are either running back to the valley or dodging attacks. I stay in my crouch as Gandalf and Bilbo rush to me since the pressure of losing the city is gone.

“Constance, we have the city but the dwarves are being overrun in the valley.” Gandalf tells me as orc death cries fill the air.

“Where’s Thorin?” I ask as I slowly stand, almost afraid to know the answer. Gandalf begins to shake his head as another orc war trumpet sounds out, but suddenly it’s drowned out by an even more powerful horn. I give the wizard a questioning look as hope brightens his wrinkled face. The horn continues as a loud bell toll joins it and I look through the earth to see what is going on.

The gate of Erebor is being broken.

Gandalf gives me a wide smile. “Thorin Oakenshield and his company are pushing back the orcs.” Bilbo runs to the bridge, yelling to us that the dwarves are rallying together. “They’re rallying to their King.” Gandalf says with emotion.

Thorin broke through the gold sickness, finally. I take a deep cleansing breath and smile. Thorin Fucking Oakenshield, you never cease to amaze me you little shit.

I feel Cúnor shift next to me, and look at him grinning. “The tides are turning, Oakenshield is back in play and that means that we can win this!” I can see the confusion on the elf’s face but I don’t have time to explain why the survival of the Line of Durin is tied with the fate of Middle-Earth. I quirk a brow when I feel a fast trotting horse ride to us, just as someone calls out to Gandalf. I turn to watch as the Elven Prince, Legolas, rides in with the Captain of the Guard seated behind him on a white horse.  

“Thank goodness,” Gandalf says as he makes his way over the strewn of corpses, “Legolas Greenleaf!”

Bilbo and I share a look, remembering how this is the elf that we both snuck past and I personally mocked as we escaped from the river. We look back to Gandalf, who’s rushing towards the blond elf who’s dismounting and looking about with raised brows. The Prince looks to the wizard, “There is a,” he starts before he falters as he catches sight of me, “second army.” He finishes with a snarl. His eyes narrow in anger and he picks up his pace, head lowered like an animal as it stalks its prey. “Bolg leads a force of Gundabad orcs. They are almost upon us.” Legolas says after giving me the coldest death glare in the world. He turns to the wizard, waiting to hear his thoughts, dismissing me.

Gandalf gasps with realization, “Gundabad…” He turns to me, eyes lit up with having the dots connected, “This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces then Bolg sweeps in from the north.”

“The north,” Bilbo asks as he returns to us after watching the dwarves battle, “where is the north exactly?”

“Ravenhill.” Gandalf answers as he turns to look at the tower where Azog is.

I feel the bottom of my stomach fall at the implication.

“Ravenhill, Thorin is up there. I saw them, on rams, riding up there.” Bilbo tells me with wide eyes, voice turning frantic.

“Fuck…” I breathe out as I crack my knuckles. I look around and see Legolas sizing me up and I curl my lip at him. His eyes flash dangerously and I turn my back, let’s see how he likes being dismissed. Cúnor is giving me a warning look but I ignore him as well. “Of course Thorin would go straight into a life threatening situation with no back-up.”

“Not only Thorin, Fíli and Kíli are also up there!” Bilbo says with a shared frustration.

I can see from the corner of my eye that the red haired she-elf freezes at that piece of information. Oh yeah, the red head from the bridge…this’ll be interesting. “Gandalf, I want to help Dáin with the army in the valley but you know my mission. The Line must not be broken.”

Gandalf nods, his eyes on Legolas who had inched his way closer to us. “Go to Ravenhill, complete your task. I will go to Lord Thranduil; we cannot let this battle be lost.”

I knock my fist against his staff and turn away. “Bilbo…?” Bilbo looks at me unsure and I can’t wait for him to come to a decision. I look at Cúnor and see him grip his sword and nod at me. I grin and crack my neck to release tension. I feel a burning sensation on the back of my neck and look back to see the Prince staring at me intently. As if he doesn’t know what to make of me. I stare back before a bit of movement catches my attention. I focus on my third eye and frown as I see just where the red she-elf has gone. A horn calls out, different from the others, and I see Cúnor jerk before stilling. “You might wanna check on Tauriel,” I say to the Prince watching as his expression tightens, “it looks like she’s defying your father.”

Legolas tilts his head, his pale pointy ears parting his straight blonde tresses, and listens carefully. He must hear what I’m talking about because he’s soon giving me a sharp nod and running off to them.

“You sure you wanna come with?” I ask the brunette.

“What, you tired already?” Cúnor throws back my words to me.

I chuckle “Please, I’m barely getting started.” My chuckle lasts a second as I raise the ground beneath us to form a platform. I waste no time in racing towards Ravenhill, I can see the army that Legolas spoke about further out. I come to realization that we’re dealing with a master strategist, to have created an army this vast and coordinated…Gandalf and I had to be better than that. I can feel Cúnor grabbing onto me as I push the earth faster, knowing that Thorin and the rest are walking into a death trap set up by Azog. Why didn’t I think that Thorin wouldn’t go after Azog? Dammit, it was the one move that Thorin would have made again and again if the situation was different. I pass Balin who is handling his own on the frozen lake, already piling up an impressive body count. I pass Bofur who is riding the weirdest looking troll I have ever seen but I don’t dare stop to help them. I hear war drums as I race closer, and that filthy dark language, and finally see the orc infested tower.

“There! Oakenshield is there!” Cúnor yells to me before pointing to the tower, “Azog has his kin!”

I follow his finger and barely see the shine of golden hair. Fíli, Azog has Fíli. “Hold on!” I shout out. I reach out and will the ground that the pale orc is standing on to obey me. As I get closer, I can hear shouts and arrows fired. Cúnor’s swords flies in a frenzy cutting them down and I can see in slow motion how Azog lifts Fíli into the air, almost effortlessly. Fíli is shouting something, what I don’t know, as Azog lifts his mutilated limb. Just as he thrusts forward the earth rushes up with a powerful roar and Azog’s blade skids, hopefully painfully, against the rock. With the orcs hold on Fíli broken, the golden haired dwarf is free falling towards the frozen lake. He won’t survive the fall, not at the height and not on that surface. The ice will either crack his skull or drown him in its icy waters.

There’s a stillness that happens when fate is about to be changed. The very air ceases to exist and you don’t breathe, or rather you can’t from all the adrenaline. Your heart feels like it stops and the brain focuses on one thing and that is sight. You’re helpless, as you watch as a momentous event is taking place and you hope that you’ll be able to make it.

This is that moment.

I can see Azog rounding the earth wall with a furious expression, eyes latching onto my glowing golden armor, his mangled mouth wide with a roar. I can see arrows suspended as they fly to me, Thorin’s despaired cry, Dwalin’s snarl and Bilbo’s grief stricken face. This all happens so slow that it almost feels like time doesn’t exist. I can see the gleam of silver from the corner of my eye as the brunette elf cuts down arrow after morgul-arrow.

I am in that moment and as soon as I make a decision, the only decision really, time cruelly speeds up. Sounds explodes in my ears, my heart feels as if it’s one beat from jumping out of my chest, my lungs are tight with panic and less then optimal oxygen but I push that aside; I barely have the thought in my mind before the platform that I’m on shoots me like a catapult into the air towards the heir to the Dwarven throne. I can’t make out who’s screaming; orcs, dwarves and elves all combining to make a deep roaring sound. I open my arms and lock them around Fíli’s body as I crash with the dwarf. Fíli screams in agony and I clench my teeth hard against the torrent pain from my side. I turn us as we go speeding towards the earth, putting my back to cushion the blow when we crash; which we do seconds after.

The pain…is near indescribable. I don’t have the time to even get the earth soft for our harsh landing, hitting it at full strength. The earth crumbles inward with our combined weight, my bones shaking with the force of it. My head cracks, my back feels on fire, and what I had suspected was just a bruised rib had surely resulted in a cracked rib. Fíli’s head is tight against my armor and I hope that he didn’t just suffer from a head injury. Our impact goes off like a land mine, ear splittingly loud and earth flying up to the sky. I feel my breath leave my lungs and my eyes close instinctively as the crumbled earth falls back down like missiles. I try to cover Fíli as much as possible as a chunk of earth hits me in the face. Every time I try to breathe it feels like fire, like my lungs shrunk several sizes too small. I lay there until everything goes quiet, a low ringing in my ear, and open my eyes. The stark blue sky causes my eyes to burn with the brightness and a wave of nausea passes over me. I blink slowly, resisting the urge to throw up the little food I’d eaten all over Fíli and myself. I try to move my head feeling like I’m moving through molasses, but all that does is cause me to regret even being awake. I can’t breathe right and with Fíli on top me it feels like a troll is sitting on my chest. I try to move him but it feels like my arms are wet noodles and barely move. I groan contemplating just how fucked I am while the sky is a blindly bright blue.

One second I’m staring at the sky as my eyes attempt to burn out of their sockets, and the next I’m being surrounded by Legolas, Cúnor, Dwalin, Bilbo and Thorin. When did they get here? Wait…where is _here_ exactly?

“…seen…injury…” Legolas says his voice oddly distant.

“…Why…shallow…suffocating?” Cúnor’s voice flows in.

“Lass…me…” Dwalin says as he leans in.

“Fí’ ‘right?” I ask but something doesn’t feel right. You know, besides feeling like a drunken mess and endless nausea. I sluggishly blink, trying to get my brain to work, and end up feeling like there’s a sea of broken glass scraping against my eyes. Ouch. I try to move again but all I manage to do is roll to my side like a wet blanket. “Row up.” I attempt to warn.

“What is she saying?” Bilbo asks as he looks on with concern.

“Fíli a’ight?” I ask. Can’t they understand plain old English jeez.

“…saved.” Thorin says as he gently pushes Dwalin behind him.

I look at Thorin in confusion. “Wazn’t ya crazy?”

Thorin’s eyes tighten but I can’t be too sure because there are two of them. Surely both of them can’t be crazy. “F-fíliii alllllight?”

“Slurred speech, hold her still…” Legolas says as he crowds me.

“Fíli alright?” I ask.

“Yes, he is.” Thorin answers again with a grave look.

I can feel Legolas touch my skull and I hiss. “Princee Leglesss da fuq ya doin’?”

“It’s Legolas.” The Prince says with pursed lips even as his fingers stay gentle.

“Oh…Is Fíli alright?” I ask.

“Yes,” the elf says with annoyance though I don’t know why, “the dwarf is fine.”

I nod and feel my head spin. I lie there and feel a great urgency rise up in me “Ey…ey…” I say. I somehow turn to look at the Prince, being the closest to me, and reach out with my wet noodle arms to grab his forest colored shirt. Legolas stares at me with raised brows, and surprisingly waits for me to talk. A fear rises up in me; I’ve felt this helpless before…it can’t be…I can’t be dying again. I stutter in my breathing, the sound of my harsh pants breaking through the fog, “Am I dying? Last time Marcus watched me die, are you going to watch my die this time?” I manage to grunt out as my eyes sting with tears and the fucking bright ass sky. I don’t want to die again, it sucks ass. My emotions are running wild and I can’t stop feeling scared. Everywhere hurts, just like before. Legolas becomes a blurry vision of blonde and green, my chest burns and I can’t breathe right. I attempt to pull myself up and get halfway up before I throw up quite suddenly. I give out a small cry as my chest feels like lava and agony. I try to breathe but I feel pain when my lungs expand. I dig my fingernails into cotton and slowly gain clarity; me vomiting helps break through the fog of hysteria, which is similar to what happens when you’re actually drunk-drunk. It sobers you up and leaves you feeling shaky and thirsty, and with a clear head of what embarrassing shit you did while drunk as fuck. You know like me vomiting and being an emotional roller-coaster. “Concussion and broken ribs, shit no wonder I am feeling like drunken monkey.”

“Drunken monkey…no I don’t even want to begin to understand what you mean by that; what’s important is that you are now feeling better and we still have orcs to cut down.” Legolas says as he looks down with a frown.

I feel better with every passing second, my hazy mind clearing, and get my emotions under control. “You mean that you’ve haven’t gone all ninja elf on their asses? Prince Legos you are seriously having me rethink the competence of elves, besides you Cúnor; you’ve proven that you can throw down.” I say with a grin to Cúnor who is looking like he wants to melt into the ground as I poke fun at his Prince. I can’t help it. I physically cannot stop making fun of the hoity-toity Prince. He’s so uptight and tense and Jesus Christ I’m surprised he hasn’t broken something with how rigid he keeps himself. It’s like he’s a statue and I want to see if there’s an actual living person in there, somewhere behind that beautiful face; a face that is glaring at me with hot anger and bared teeth. I smile wide and pat his cheek, “Come on Blondie loosen up jeez.” Legolas’ face flushes pink and his eyes widen comically before narrowing dangerously. I hurriedly put my hand down, because I have a sneaky suspicion that the Prince will bite it like a feral dog. I shakily stand, recalling how the combat medic from Earth had said how important it was to breathe through the pain. Not breathing right can cause a chest infection and that’s something I can’t afford when the medical care on Middle-Earth is stuck on primeval levels.

“What do you think you can do in your state?” Legolas hisses to me as he stands to face me.

“Legolas, you might be a pretty face but I like to think that behind all that you actually have intelligence. What do you think I can do? I mean you do know what I am right? Your father told you? Or can you guess?” I say as I slowly shake out my limbs. By this time, Dwalin and Thorin had moved an unconscious Fíli to a safer place and gone looking for Kíli. Bilbo had run off after them, so it’s just me and the elves inside a small pit. I followed my crash site to see a nice long trench that’s at least a mile long. Damn no wonder I feel like I was hit by a semi-truck. I pat my armor and give thanks to the Vala who gifted me with near indestructability.

“I can hazard a guess woman.” Legolas says with a look of irritation. 

I look at him and size him up, because seriously all that attitude.  I look down, which is no trouble at all if you know what I mean, and see a wet stain on his thighs. I stare at it silently before I connect the dots. I threw up…I threw up on the Elf. Oh my God, how embarrassing. I decide that I’ve made him suffer long enough; the elf has my vomit on him for fucksake. I turn to look at a safer person, Cúnor. “Okay, so no fancy schmancy stuff considering that I’m working on probably half my capacity and that’s looking at it with optimism. So that means that long rang attacks are the only options for now. You can get in close or stick with me, your choice but make it snappy I can feel the stupid recklessness of the dwarves flooding the air.” The brunette is looking torn, and I realize it’s because Legolas is here. You know Cúnor’s **actual** commanding officer.

I can feel the smugness radiating from Legolas. I refuse to turn and look at his stupid face and look away from Cúnor with a flush. Whatever, regardless I’m still going to kick ass; the elves can do their own thing. I take a painful breath and see where everyone is. “Thorin and his little ragtag group are rushing to top of the hill, Azog and some orcs are there waiting for them. A band of orcs are passing through the tower and down the hill to the battle. Balin and Bofur are there cutting them down but they need assistance. Kíli is creeping around the tower, no doubt searching for the lovely Tauriel, and Bolg is lurking about waiting to attack.” I can feel my head pounding but I have no time to worry about injuries because just then a familiar sense of home floods through me. The sun catches my armor and a breeze flows through my hair.

_Take strength child, the battle is almost won._

I can feel sunlight stream through my veins and breathe just a bit easier. I look up and see Legolas staring at me, eyes sharp and calculating before screeches rip through the air. We turn and see a sea of bats darken the skies; just what we need, an aerial attack, fuck. “Okay, time to go to work!” I say mostly to myself as I pull up rock spears and send them through the air to knock as many bats out of the sky as I can. I can sense Cúnor behind me doing his own thing, arrows streaking through the air, when I lose sight of the Elven Prince. I turn and see him flying away, grabbing onto a bat and heading to the top of Ravenhill.

That Prince sure is resourceful.

I’m standing there, keeping my senses open and trying to push back any lingering nausea, and see Kíli losing his fight. I can’t get there in time. I see the three fighters; the light infused slender form of Tauriel being thrown to the ground, the hulking dark mass of Bolg and Kíli’s struggling form. The flash of healing sunlight in my veins, the cool refreshing breeze, the message from way back on the river…it all clicked into place.

Save the Line of Durin.

Complete the mission.

I can’t make it in time, no flashy saving like with Fíli, and let’s face it I can barely move without my vision getting blurry. The little healing that Tulkas gave me, just enough to skim by without gaining notice from the powers that be, isn’t enough for me to go rescuing dwarves from certain death; but it is enough juice to shake things up a bit. “Cover me.” I say to Cúnor and close my eyes to focus on the earth. My head is pounding but faintly, like a dying hangover, and I push my hands out and feel the pounding grow sharply. I grunt, biting back a scream, and shake the entirety of Ravenhill instead of just the area where Kíli is at.

Eh, good enough.

I hear the earth rumble, the cries of dying orcs as rocks slam onto them, but more importantly I see Kíli hit the ground alive. I stop the quake and fall onto my knees. “Shit.” I manage to say before I hear Cúnor tell me that I need to get back on my feet and moving. The scarred elf is right, mission isn’t over yet. I push up to my feet, biting back cries of pain, and breathe tightly. I find us some cover and tell the brunette that I need to just breathe before I can go out and kill. I lean against the cold stone and attempt to keep my cool, breathing in and out, one two three, pushing back the pain. I can hear Cúnor breathing quietly next to me, sword at the ready for anything, and see through the earth as Legolas makes his own damn bridge to get to Kíli and Tauriel. I leave that group alone and decide to focus on where Thorin is.

I can’t fucking see him. Damn that dwarf and his incessant need to get into life threatening situations.  “We need to move. I can’t see Thorin.”

“What do you mean you can’t see him? Is he dead?” The scarred elf asks.

“No, I can’t see him as in he’s probably on that frozen lake therefore I can’t see him.” I whisper back as I push off the wall. “We’ll have to go the normal way…don’t have enough juice for a fancy tunnel up, not if I have to save Thorin later.” I look at the elf and wait for him to get the hint that he’s going to have to lead. His elven sight is gonna have to be put to work since my earth seeing powers are strained right now.

Soon the two of us are sneaking our way up Ravenhill. It’s a good thing that Dwalin had been up here, paving a path already. I can see Legolas fighting with that hulking orc, Tauriel hovering over a prone Kíli, and Bilbo for some crazy reason napping. I don’t stop to ask why, just pass him by and soon I’m crouching behind a rock with Cúnor. We’re both staring at the showdown between Azog and Thorin, the air thick with tension and bloodlust. The two are circling each other, like rabid dogs, eyes trained on each other and full of hate. As their swords clash together I glance to Cúnor and see that he’s down to one arrow. His honey golden eyes lock with mine and he silently pulls the arrow and nocks it, ready to unleash at my signal. I twitch my hands and have the surrounding earth ready to jump out and cause a distraction. We both watch as the two enemies fight, twirling around to dodge attacks. The fight is intense, swings and thrusts deadly and blood flowing freely on both sides. The sound of battle in the valley is a distant thrum, heightening the moment. I watch as Thorin breaks the ice and Azog falls into the cold waters with a roar. The icy waters are slow to stop rippling but even then I don’t relax. It’s not a confirmed kill until you see the life drain away from the enemy’s eyes. Trust me I have experience on that front. I watch as Thorin follows the ‘corpse’ of the white orc when suddenly a blade pierces through the ice and through Thorin’s foot.

As Thorin screams, the yell drown out by the crash of ice, I tell Cúnor to ready his arrow. I pull up small spikes, ready to be launched. Azog climbs out of the ice like a demon out of hell, mutilated face set in a fearsome snarl as he lifts his weaponized arm.  Thorin’s sword, Orcrist-and just how the hell did he get it back-, is thrown to the side. Azog is bearing down on the dwarf, eyes alight with awful glee and I can see plain as day that Thorin is thinking of doing something stupid. “Now!” I yell.

The sound of an arrow splits the air, my small spears hurling after the fast projectile, and imbedding itself into Azog’s arm. The orc had moved with our sudden cries, but Cúnor wasn’t looking for a kill shot, just an attack to throw his focus off. My small spears fly at him, giving Thorin time to reach and scoop his sword up and stand to his feet. Azog whirls around, Black Speech spilling from his ruined mouth and Thorin gives out a war cry as he thrusts his sword to the white Orcs chest. I stand from my cover, and curse as I see Azog’s blade arm piercing Thorin. I rush out, stumbling on the ice and gracelessly tackle Azog. I hear Thorin cry out in pain as the blade pulls out, but I trust that I have enough time to see this filth dead before making sure that Thorin stays alive. I see the Orc cough up black blood as he glares at me, his razor sharp teeth stained black. I grab Orcrist’s handle, that’s sticking out of his chest, and twist, “You and your master have failed. The Line will not die today, and Erebor will not fall.” I pull out the sword and plunge it back in, heedless of the desperate blows that Azog is throwing to my sides. I block the pain, eyes steady on his impossibly beautiful light blue colored eyes that are narrowed in hate. As the orc gurgles pitifully I slowly stand and deliver a beheading swing. The head of the orc rolls out onto the ice and I stand there, breathing heavily before my legs wobble and I crash down. I can see the shine of my armor start to fade until it’s nearly snuffed out, the pain of my injuries accumulating and making themselves known at the same time. I can’t even cry out, the pain robbing me of my breath. I collapse to the side, eyes staring out to the bright blue sky and the ice numbing me. There’s the cracked rib from my fight with Smaug and saving Fíli, the bruises atop bruises from dodging the dragon; the throb of my knuckles from punching dragon scale and trolls and the hard earth; the concussion and my back flaring from the lifesaving dive with Fíli, and the blows from Azog didn’t fucking help. My whole body hurts, shit I think even my hair hurts. I can hear Bilbo run across the ice and drop down next to Thorin, babbling about something. Fucking Bilbo, Thorin isn’t the only one strewn about on the ice injured. I swear that little hobbit has a hard on for Thorin fucking Oakenshield. I can hear Thorin talking back, and I see that the bromance is back on, but I can’t move enough to go to the Dwarf King.

I hear a loud screech and slowly push myself on my back. What fucking now? I turn as slow as a snail and see them, the eagles. The cavalry has arrived. I see the aerial warriors cut down the bats, their claws snatching them in midflight to tear into them with their beaks. I see one holding Beorn, dropping him at the mouth of the valley as he shifts into his bear form. My vision blurs and I swear I can hear Dwalin and Balin. Cúnor appears before me, face set gravely. “Thorin…is he safe?”

“He’ll live the dwarves are taking him to their medic.” The brunette tells me as he eyes my dull armor with worry.

I smile, feeling exhausted but content. I feel so cold, but I don’t mind since the ice is numbing the worst of my pains. “Cheer up Cúnor, we won.”

“We won, but at what price?”

The amount of death on all sides is too much to count. Many good warriors died today. I stay silent for a moment to respect their sacrifice. “Cúnor,” I say after a long beat of silence, “I need a medic. I think I might actually die again, but this time for real.”

“Reckless.”

I grin faintly at hearing the prim voice of a certain Elven Prince. “Legolas, you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice.” I turn my head and see him kneeling by me, “You know if you would only stop frowning so much you’d look so much prettier.” That comment causes the Prince to break his mask of gloom, “There, that’s the look.” I close my eyes and feel the pull of sleep tug me deeper and deeper. I’m startled out of it by a hand gripping my arm tightly and shaking me. “Ow, stop it.” I say sluggishly. “I’m hurt you dick. My armor isn’t filtering out the pain anymore, my tank is empty.”

“I did notice that it isnt shining as brightly as before.” Cúnor agrees as politely as possible in the face of my potential death.

“Can’t you,” Legolas says with a lingering eye on my armor, “say a spell to help you up until we get down this forsaken place?”

“It doesn’t work that way, besides I’m not a witch I don’t know any damn spells. I used up all the juice in this thing. It’s been a long fucking week Legolas. I fought a dragon, I fought trolls, and I’ve been pushing back my injuries so that I can function. That type of blocking has a price, and I’m paying for it now.”

“All this to save **_them_**? What’s so special about them?” Legolas asks with bitterness and anger.

Ah… so that’s how it is. The red-head and Kíli. “Legolas, I am legit about to pass out on you. If you help me survive this, I’ll tell you just how I came to Middle-Earth and tasked with saving them.” I manage to say in between pained gasps. I look at his scowling face, his cold blue eyes, and see him nod curtly. He says something in his elven tongue to Cúnor that has the brunette running off. I feel my eyes closing, lungs rattling within my beaten body, as strong arms pull me up so gently. I open my eyes, unfocused until a hand places my head to rest against a hard chest.

“You are heavier than you look.”

I manage to pitiful laugh that turns into a groan at the pain, “Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to talk about weight with a lady. It’s rude.”

“Considering how rude you are I think you’ll survive my comment.” Legolas says as he hefts me securely into his arms and starts the slow trek down the hill. By the time we reach the bottom I’m barley holding on. Legolas has been talking to me into staying conscious; I can feel his arms start to shake with carrying my dead weight. I hear him whisper a word in his native tongue that makes me think that he’s thanking God when Cúnor meets us with a wooden cart. Legolas and Cúnor lay me on the bed, sharing looks of concern as I drift in and out. The cart begins to move before a voice calls out for us to wait. I recognize Thranduil’s voice and wonder what’s the big hold up, because it must be big from the stony bitch face that Legolas has going on. My question’s answered as the Elven King lays a body next to mine. I turn my head and catch sight of a pale Kíli. “Kíli?” I gasp out, my hand shaking and weakly trying to reach out to feel for his pulse. A hand catches my wrist tightly. I look up and see Legolas glaring at me before dropping my hand.

“He’s alive.” He says curtly before turning away briskly.

I look at him until he walks out of my limited field of vision and turn back to see a wrecked looking Thranduil.

“My healers will look after you, he,” the King says as he spares the dwarf a look, “will no doubt be collected by his people and healed by his own. But I offer you my services.”

“Thank you King Thranduil.” I manage to say before falling into darkness.

 

* * *

 

I wake up feeling like I went a couple rounds with a dragon; which holy fuck I did.

My body is stiff and hurting but it’s at a level of pain in which I can function. I blink out the sleepiness from my eyes and see that I’m in a tent, the ivory colored fabric ceiling soft on my sensitive eyes. I push myself up and grit my teeth against the pain of my sore bruised arms and tender abdominal muscles. My ribs are punishing me with sharp jolts of pain and my head feels like it’s been cracked open. All in all I was expecting much worse. I hunch over my lap, and focusing on breathing before lifting my head to investigate.

I’m in a private tent, not enough room for another cot, and wonder where everyone is. I’m slowly looking about and catch sight of Legolas sitting on a chair in the darkest corner of the tent just staring at me. “Holy shit!” I scream out as I jerk back and almost fall out of the cot. I spend a couple of heart pounding seconds trying to find my balance before a pair of hands steady me. “Jesus, are you trying to kill me?” I say through deep breaths.

“Forgive me.” Legolas says in tone that tells me that he could give two shits if I forgive him or not.

I decide not to antagonize him and back away. “Yeah, apology accepted.” I watch as Legolas steps back to grab the chair to set it close to the cot. I look at him and see him looking at my face with a weird expression, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I, for some weird reason, begin to feel my cheeks burn. I am blushing and the harder I try not to the more I feel myself blushing. I can see Legolas flushing slightly before clearing his throat, looking away before looking right back at me almost against his will. I can’t help but drop my eyes to my lap, feeling my stomach tighten nervously.

Get a grip, jeez.

I steel myself and look up. I see Legolas looking at me with a stiff look and I raise a brow in question, determined to push past that weird staring contest.

“You said that you would tell me everything if I helped you survive. I fulfilled my end of the bargain, now it is your turn.” The Prince says stiffly as he sits ramrod straight.

I sigh and lay back own since I don’t have a back rest or enough pillows to cushion my back. I shimmy down and raise a hand to my head, humming a surprised hum as my fingers weave through clean untangled hair. I look at my hands and down at my body and am pleased to find that someone had actually washed me.

God, how embarrassing and also brave of them to tackle the mission of cleaning me.

I look at Legolas and wiggle my brows, “Who got the honor in seeing me naked?” I tease trying to lessen the tense atmosphere.

Legolas looks to the side, the tip of his ears looking oddly pink, “Tauriel. The dwarves…they didn’t have a female among them and the human women were too busy tending to their own wounded. The King had already ordered that your recovery be overseen by our healers but the dwarves,” at this Legolas sneers with distaste, “wouldn’t rest until a compromise was reached. Tauriel was chosen to care and guard over you since she has proven herself to one of the company.”

I can see how saying even that hurts the blonde elf. He must really care for the Captain; ah the pains of an unrequited love. I’ve only heard of how much that hurts, never experienced it myself, but back on Earth I would see it around the barracks. Which makes how the Prince still went and helped her save Kíli all the more bittersweet.

“So then how did you manage to get in?” I ask.

Legolas smirks briefly, “Even guards need to rest, and who better to guard you then the Prince who had saved the Dwarf King twice?”

I laugh briefly before falling silent. I fidget with the covers and look over to him, “How long have I been asleep? How’s Thorin? Kíli and Fíli?”

“They are fine, resting in Erebor from their wounds.” Legolas reports as he barely moves a muscle in his face. “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

“Sounds about right, shit.” I say as I close my eyes. “Where’s my armor?” I ask with a jolt, looking around the room and not seeing it. I try to get up but my arms shake so much that I plop right back down.

“It is in my private tent, hidden. I know that it is of great importance to you.” The Prince says in a calming tone.

I sigh, closing my eyes, “Thank you, that means that a lot to me.” I take a moment before bracing myself for my part of the deal. What had I been thinking when I offered that up? Legolas wouldn’t have left me for dead; he didn’t seem like that type of person and besides Cúnor was there; doubt he would have let his Prince either. Being flooded with pain and near passing out made for making stupid decisions, but I am a woman of my word. “Right, story time…um can I get water first though?” Legolas gets up and comes back with a cup and a pitcher. Pouring a cup he hands it to me and I push myself up and take it. Drinking my fill I hand him the cup and lay back down already feeling exhausted. “Ok, so I guess you can tell that I’m not actually from Middle-Earth?”

“Yes.” The elf answers as he keeps an unnerving blank expression.

“Truth is that I’m actually from another planet, or uh plane of existence? An alternate reality? It’s weird but I come from an earth that’s just called Earth. We don’t have trolls, dragons, dwarves, orcs, goblins, were-worms, hobbits or elves. We don’t have the Valar, or the Maia or skin changers. My planet is just made up of humans, or what you call the race of Men. Our animals are basic. Lions, tigers, birds, dogs, cats whatever. Our civilization is more advanced; we don’t ride horses to get to places we have cars which are a more complicated and sophisticated version of the caravan that surpasses the speed of your fastest horse. I’m trailing off, sorry,” I say with a weak grin, “anyway the real story begins when I was fifteen years old human years. Back then my world thought we were alone in the galaxy, that there were no other life forms out among the stars until one day the sky darkened with ships. These ships could fly in the air like birds, powered by technology more advanced than ours. We at first didn’t know if they came in peace or had more malicious intentions until they dropped a bomb on one of the largest continents in the world. That bomb killed millions of people in seconds. Naturally the world armies tried to retaliate but we were hilariously outgunned. Think of a hobbit trying to fight a fire-drake. We were the hobbits and the aliens were the dragon.” I take a moment not looking at Legolas but focusing on the tent ceiling. “I was in my bedroom passing the time, waiting to hear where we were going to be evacuated to when suddenly the very air pulsed with power. One second I was reaching up to grab a book and the next I was waking up on the floor. I didn’t know how I got there or how long I had been there, I got up and went to find my family. I found my parents on the floor. I thought that they were asleep, they weren’t. The aliens had this machine that attacked our bodies from within. It almost drove us to extinction but those who did survive either stayed the same due to immunity or mutated. I mutated.” I look to the side and see that Legolas is leaning closer to me, eyes wide with interest. “I wasn’t born with these abilities, I was made into what I am by some foreign power trying to invade my world and kill my race. Those of us who mutated used our abilities to fight back. We were collected by the military and trained quickly for combat. From that day on for thirteen long years I was fighting the war. We won,” I tell him, “I died the day we won. I died because I let my ego get the best of me. I didn’t check my surroundings, I let my thirst for vengeance get the better of me and didn’t double check that the enemy was dead and not playing possum.” I move my hand and lay it on my stomach, “Right here, that’s where the bastard blast a hole in me. Blood loss, nasty way to go,” I tell him in a watery tone, “I felt my blood leave me. Could feel myself growing colder and colder, but I managed to linger on until we finally destroyed the main ship. I died at twenty-eight knowing nothing but war for thirteen years. I took my last breath and woke up in some weird field where Tulkas appeared before me.” I motion the cup and take another gulp.

“So you’ve actually met one of the Vala.” Legolas says in quiet awe.

“Yes, and let me tell you I nearly went blind.” I laugh as I remember Tulkas. “You think my armor’s glow is bright? Imagine my glow but times a hundred. Light seeps out from his very being. Hair the color of gold, eyes a blue that rivals the sea, and muscles that could have been sculpted from marble. The guy is every inch of a Vala and here he was telling me that he needed me to go to Middle-Earth to save the Line of Durin. I didn’t know what in the world he was talking about, I thought he was some weird death hallucination until he managed to grab me and access my memories. I knew that it was real when I saw that I was a walking corpse.”

“A corpse?” He asks with a scrunched up nose.

“I didn’t look like this when he pulled me out of the afterlife. I was heading to my own Hall of Mandos when Tulkas grabbed my soul. He didn’t notice that I wasn’t from your world until I was trying to drive a spear through his head.”

“You what?!” The elf says with horror.

“Hey I didn’t know what he was talking about and I had just died! I thought he was an alien trying to do nefarious things to my body!” I say in protest. “Either way I realized that my efforts were for shit since he outclassed me. He then told me that Aulë had come to him for help; wanted to save the Durin line. Tulkas realized that the Erebor was the key to the dwarf hunt. If the enemy won the Lonely Mountain than they would have passage way to Angmar then-“

“The lands to the West would be lost.” Legolas cut in, arriving to the same conclusion that Gandalf had.

“Right. Tulkas figured that out too, and so he accepted but on the condition that he would send his own creation to Middle-Earth. Now you know the lore better than me, you know who he would have to talk to in order to not only resurrect but send someone to Middle-Earth.”

“Eru Ilúvatar.” Legolas whispers in shock, his incredible blue eyes wide and lit up with awe.

“The Big Guy.” I confirm to him. “Tulkas got the go ahead from Eru and voila here I am in Middle-Earth. I was tasked with saving the Line of Durin so that they may take back the Lonely Mountain and guard it against the dark forces. That stronghold has to withstand the attacks that will come in the future. That is why they’re so special, without them guarding the passage the Enemy has a stronger foot hold in the upcoming war.”

Legolas looks perturbed, face set in a deep frown as he looks to me. “The Lord of the Rings,” he says and quickly looks around himself in paranoia before looking back to me, “he was defeated long ago. The Ring lost in the sea.”

“Legolas, he was at Dol Guldur. The Necromancer was him, he’s too weak to gain a physical form and The Ring…it’s been found. Its bearer will keep it hidden, but for how long I don’t know. All I know is that we have an advantage. I know who the ring bearer is. I know that the Enemy is slowly readying himself for war. I’m in Middle-Earth. I will not abandon this world to ruin. I’ll stay here and fight. I’ll start fortifying Dale and Erebor and work with your kingdom so that this region at least will be ready for war.”

 Legolas gives me a sharp look, “Have you told my father any of this?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“He will help you, if only because you are…”

“A Tulk?” I say with a grin.

“…Right.” The Prince says. “He’ll help you.”

I stare at him, something about how he’s talking seeming weird to me. “You talk like you’re not going to help.”

“I’m leaving these lands. I’m going to head out to find a Ranger called Strider.” Legolas tells me.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Captain of the Guard and a certain Prince of Erebor would it?” I ask as gently as I can. Which in the end isn’t gentle at all considering we both only know one Captain and one Prince that are romantically involved. Eh, I’m gave it my best shot, at least I tired I console myself with that thought. I’m looking at him really hard, so I see the barely there flinch of pain and the narrowing of eyes.

“What do you know of it?” He hisses to me, all fury and heat.

I push myself up and turn to face him, grimacing at the pain of my injuries but this has to be done. “I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through. I don’t know how long you’ve loved her, or how deep you do. I know that it took a lot for you to act like you did even while witnessing her fall in love with Kíli. For what it’s worth, I admire that. Not many people can act so nobly toward another in the face of their pain. If you have to step away in order to function then hey go for it. I was just asking because…well you’ve kinda grown on my Legless.”

Legolas glares at me for a long moment before sagging forward. Elbows to his knees and face hidden by his hands. “Forgive me,” this time said with actual feeling, “the subject is not one that I feel welcome to having anytime soon.” Legolas rubs his face in a show of exhaustion before looking at me, “I’m leaving for many reasons. I feel if I stay here another day I will go mad. I need to go out and see the world…before I turn bitter and close hearted. And yes,” Legolas says with a saddened look, “I need to go so I can attempt to break this link my heart has to…her. I can see that that _Dwarf_ loves her…dare I say more than she loves him. I can ask for no better than that, for her to be happy and loved. She needs that.”

I lean over, biting back a grunt at the painful twinge of my back, and grab Legolas’ hand a bit too hard from the faint grimace on his face. “He does, love her. It’s all he could talk about in the mountain after they escaped with their lives from Lake-Town. Kíli would die for her, would kill for her. I think he’s loved her since his time in the dungeons.”

“It all sounds so romantic, but we both know that Oakenshield will never allow him to pledge himself to her.” Legolas says with a darkening expression.

“Kíli isnt the heir to the throne, and even if he was Kíli would never allow Tauriel to be separated from him…not even for his uncle. Thorin will just have to fucking deal. Besides I’ll be here, making sure they get their happily ever after,” I say with a grin and pat his hand, “someone has to. You deserve one too you know.”

Legolas pulls away at that, looking away, “What I _want_ isnt important, what I _need_ is to go out and…”

“Find yourself?” I say with a half grin. “Yeah, okay.”

“What about you?” Legolas asks but with an expression that takes all my control not to be offended by.

Like I’m dirty little bug clinging to his boot. Seriously, major attitude. The fucking little shit could at least look like he cares. “What about me?” I ask with a sharp tone and narrowed eyes.

“What about your happily ever after?”

“I’m alive aren’t I? That’s more than I can say the first time around when I lived. The fact that I’m here healing after a decisive battle talking about feelings with you is proof enough that I’m living the dream.”

“You’re a very simple creature aren’t you?” Legolas says with an arrogant sniff.

“Legless you’re ruining the moment.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Legolas,” he says with a scowl as he leans in to look me in the eye, “say it with me, LegOlAs. Really how hard is it for you to understand?”

“Motherfucker you did not just.” I say with incredulity before giving fuck all about my bruised body and tackling the smug looking Prince to the ground. I have the pleasure of hearing him squawk inelegantly as he hits the ground. As if there was a bell sounding off we both launch at each other in a display of wiggling limbs and hissed out curses.

I can feel Legolas trying to pin me but I push my hips up to send us rolling around the room. We’re not even really fighting, just rolling about on the floor like a pair of idiots trying to pin the other; it isnt until the little shit jabs his pointy ass elbow to my side that he gains the upper hand. Legolas takes my moment of pain to push off from under me and flip us over. I look up and glare at him, his stupid smug look making me want to punch him in his smirking mouth.

“Who’s incompetent now?”

I huff out a breath before grinning at the elf, “If you wanted me on my back you should have just asked.”

Legolas stares at me in shock before scrambling madly off me, face red and sputtering. “How dare you…I would never!”

I lay there laughing before getting up to my feet, “Never say never,” I tease before waving a hand at his scandalized look, “Relax, I was just joking.” Just then I feel a small group turn towards the tent. “Look alive, someone’s coming.”

Legolas manages to get his face under control and goes back to sit on the chair, looking every inch of the high born Elf that he is. I barely manage to sit down on the cot before the flap is being pulled aside. Bard, Thranduil, Gandalf, Balin, Dáin and Bilbo enter. I smile at them before looking at the red haired dwarf, “I believe we haven’t met, I’m one of the rabble that you were going to water the ground with my blood.”

The dwarf doesn’t look one bit embarrassed by that reminder, just grins and steps forward. “Ah yes, the lass that was hell-bent on saving my cousin and his heirs, Dáin Ironfoot, at your service.”

“Constance Williamson.” I say before looking to Bard. “How’s Dale looking?”

“Solid foundations, now that the dragon is dead we can rebuild and bring it back to its former glory. My people are safe, hearts heavy with loss but safe at last.” Bard says with a smile as he walks towards me, he looks at me for a quiet moment before leaning down to embrace me. “Thank you. Without you coming to Dale my people would have been slaughtered, my children…” he breaks off.

I look to Bilbo, who’s in my direct eye sight, and see him grin rather cheekily. I look away and see Legolas staring at me with an odd look that makes me feel embarrassed for some reason. I bite my lip and awkwardly try to return the hug, “You don’t have to thank me Bard. I wasn’t alone in making the city safe. I saw quite a lot of your people fighting, and of course I had the amazing warriors from the Woodland Realm to help me out.”

Bard releases me and grins, “Either way thank you. I hope I’ll have the pleasure of your company in the days to come, hopefully this time without fighting for our lives.”

I smile at him, watching as he makes his way out of the tent, “Don’t worry I’ll find you! Tell your kids to take care of themselves!” I watch as Bard nods before leaving. I look towards the dwarf who is looking at me expectantly still. “So…?”

The red-headed dwarf looks at Legolas with a guarded expression before giving me a subtle look. I ignore the unspoken request to send the elves out. “I came to tell you news of the King’s health.”

“How is Thorin? I remember that Azog was able to injure him but wasn’t able to find out just to what extent.” I say.

“King Thorin is out of danger,” Dáin says with a happy grin, “Azog cut into Thorin’s shoulder but it wasn’t deep enough to cause any lasting damage. He’s awake, in pain, but awake. He’ll make a recovery in no time.” The Lord of the Iron hills tells me.

“What about Kíli? What about Fíli? I was told that they’re alive, but Fíli…I think I hurt him in my attempt to save him.”

“Kíli is unconscious. The wound he sustained went deep into his side. He’s fighting off an infection but Óin tells me that no major organs were damaged. One of _their_ healers was brought in,” the disapproval at such an action was clear in the dwarf’s tone, “and has provided Óin with anything he needs. Fíli has several broken bones. Two broken ribs, a broken arm, a broken ankle and a rather large bump to the head,” Dáin says with a grin, “nothing that can’t be healed in a jiffy. Boy’s had worse injuries doing nothing more than walking through the Blue Mountains. He’ll be fine, he’s laid up in bed cursing up a storm wondering where you’ve gone.” At that the dwarf lord looks toward the seated Prince with a narrowed look before setting his sights back on me.

I grin, “Tell him to stop worrying. I’m fine, or at least getting there.”

“Thorin wants you to finish your healing back in Erebor.” Balin cuts in smoothly.

I sigh, already regretting the wrestling match with Legolas since it has my body aching with pain, and shake my head. “No.”

“No?” Balin asks with a frown.

“I,” I start before looking down at my feet, they’re bare how odd, “I need time for myself. I need time to just…be me and not a soldier.” I don’t look up, not wanting to see their faces in an attempt to change my mind. I have given my entire life to fighting wars, I never had time to just sit back and relax. I know that I can keep going, keep fighting but sooner or later there’s going to be a fall out. Either I’ll go crazy and fall into the dark side, or I’ll stop caring; neither option bodes well for Middle Earth. I need to have time to be Constance Williamson, twenty-nine year old mutant/Maia. I guess Legolas isnt the only one who needs to step away to just fucking breathe and function. At the thought of the sourly elf I look to the side and see said elf looking at me with could pass off as a concerned look.

“We’ll tell Thorin, you rest Mahal knows you’ve earned it dealing with us.” Balin says with a fatherly laugh.

I look at the kind dwarf, emotion gripping me tight when I catch sight of his immaculate beard and dusty burgundy robes. He’s got a bruise on his cheek and bright eyes as he smiles at me. “I’ll come back but just not now. You won’t get rid of me so easily lord knows just what kind of idiocy you Durin’s Folk will get into without someone keeping an eye on you.”

“Truer words my dear,” Dáin says with a loud laugh as he bows and turns, eying Thranduil up and down, “Woodland Sprite.”

Thranduil smiles tightly, “Going back to the abyss to be forgotten again so soon?” Dáin scowls, lips pursing tightly in anger.  Thranduil smiles serenely, even though his eyes are bright with scorn.

“Balin,” Gandalf cuts in before a fight breaks out in my healing tent, “didn’t you say that you had something to deliver?”

Balin for his part looks calm, every inch of him exuding nobility. “Yes.” Balin looks to me, “I know you don’t think I heard you lass, back in the library, but I did. Circumstances were…tense needless to say. I spoke to Thorin, and well,” Balin reaches into his pocket and draws out a black velvet bag, “Thorin wanted me to give this to you, said that this deserved to go home with the message that he’s not his grandfather.” Balin places the bag on the bed and gives a stiff nod before walking out, herding Thorin’s cousin with him.

I look at the bag before looking at Gandalf.

“Go on, open it.” The wizard says.

I look at Legolas who’s eying the bag curiously before looking at Thranduil. The Elven King has his eyes locked on the bag with a barely hidden look of hope. I think I know what it is, but I don’t want to jinx it. I grab the bag and pull on the strings to open it, reaching in I feel delicate cool metal. I laugh lightly, smile blooming on my face…Thorin you son of a bitch. I let go and hand the bag over to Thranduil, “This isn’t meant for me.” Thranduil eyes me before slowly reaching out to grab the bag so gently that I’m reminded of just why the contents of the bag mean so much to him.

Thranduil reaches in and slowly pulls out the infamous silver necklace. The gems are beautifully set in the delicate network of silver strands, it looks like something out of a dream. The center piece is blindingly beautiful, the diamonds fashioned in a heart like tear drop with a butterfly in the middle. Thranduil holds it up, eyes wide and mouth ajar with emotion.

I hear the faintest of noises off to the side and see that Legolas is looking at the necklace with a sad look. I look back to the King but Thranduil’s already got his mask on. He slides the heirloom back into the bag and hides it away on his person. “When you are able,” Thranduil says with grace and poise, “convey my gratitude to King Thorin.” Thranduil bows his head in a move that is just so elegant before leaving the tent.

Gandalf makes his exit quickly, mumbling something about getting provisions for the journey back. Bilbo spares me a smile before following the wizard out. Once the flap closes, I become aware of just how exhausted I am. I slowly lay back down, my body feeling so old and creaky, and sigh with pleasure at the softness of the cot. I nuzzle the pillow and lazily try and reach the covers before I feel them being draped over me. I sluggishly open my eyes and catch sight of Legolas crouching by my head, eye level with me. The Prince stares at me, an expression on his face that I can’t understand but like anyway since it makes his eyes soft and kind and his lips lose their tight hold. I smile at him, because why the hell not? We’re both alive, and we’re both taking time for ourselves. I smile because who wouldn’t smile at Prince Legolas Greenleaf? I smile because it makes him smile back and I have the feeling that he hasn’t really smiled at all for a long while. “I wish you all the best Prince Legolas. I hope you find peace wherever you go.”

Legolas smiles just a tad brighter, eyes beautiful and hair shining like a freaking angel. He says some angelic sounding words that I don’t understand but it must be well wishes since Legolas reaches out and places his calloused hand on my cheek.

This is weird. I mean here is a person that I’ve never really spent time with besides escaping his dungeons and taunting him. I mean we’ve fought together, took down what felt like a hundred orc armies, but we’ve never really talked. It’s weird to feel sad to see him go; it feels even weirder to have him acting so…nice. But then again when fighting for your life and the fate of the world people tend to form bonds quick. I respect the elf; respect his nobility and his will to fight for the innocent. I don’t have to know his favorite color to know that I would want him at my back watching my six.

But still, it’s a bit weird to have him touching my cheek so softly. 

I can feel my cheeks begin to heat up and force it back down. I am not going to fucking blush, I am going to lay here and handle this goodbye like a fucking boss. I reach out and place my own hand on his cheek because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when someone’s doing a goodbye? Reciprocate or look like a fucking douchebag, and let’s face it the elf has just suffered a damaging unrequited love. Dude doesn’t need me to act like an emotionless monster to his leaving. So I put on my big girl panties and cup his smooth ass cheek, committing his face to memory, as if I would ever forget but still, and move my thumb gently in a soft caress. “I’ll hold down the fort here, go out and get your groove back.”

Legolas huffs out a chuckle before dropping his hand. I take that as a signal and lower my own hand. “We will meet again Constance.” Legolas does that head bow that doesn’t look as smooth as his fathers but still dope as hell before he turns to walk away.

“Hey don’t forget to bring me my armor!” I shout from my prone position.

“I’ll have Cúnor bring it to you!” Legolas shouts back.

“Thanks Legless!” I can’t help but add.

“It’s Legolas you dimwitted woman!” Is the comeback from the sourly Prince.

I laugh as I get myself comfortable on the cot and find myself falling asleep within minutes.

 


	12. And they lived happily ever after…?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like how I had talked a big game of being my own person after the battle, but the reality was that I had to put my little spirit journey on the back burner since a certain Grey Wizard left and I was left to act as go between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that I actually finished this bad boy. Anyway this is the epilogue, and since I like my epilogues to tell me what everyone's life has gone get ready; I wrote mini epilogues for almost everyone. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**And they lived happily ever after…?**

 

Things didn’t magically get better from the jump, the Elves, Dwarves and Men had kept their distance from each other; awkwardly cleaning up the disaster that was the battlefield. Gandalf had quietly left after a couple days rest with the hobbit in tow. Gandalf, you know the one person that could ease interactions between the species, had fucked off to the Shire with Bilbo fucking Baggins and the One fucking Ring. No consideration at all that wizard, but Bilbo had surprised me with the cloak and dagger exit back to his hole in the ground. Balin had told me that Bilbo had been given a chest full of gold, Durin clothes and armor, his contract and a promise to keep in touch. Bilbo had settled back into his home and in a letter sent almost a year after he had left, he told us that he had actually had to fight the town in order to not only prove that he was in fact alive and Bilbo Baggins, but also to take back his stuff that was auctioned off. The fuck was going on in the Shire that Bilbo had to convince people that it was actually him? The last letter that he had sent out had said that he had taken in his nephew to care for since the boys’ parents died due to sickness. Gandalf, after taking the hobbit safely back to the Shire, and had travelled through-out the lands. No surprise there really.

I like how I had talked a big game of being my own person after the battle, but the reality was that I had to put my little spirit journey on the back burner since a certain Grey Wizard left and I was left to act as go between. It took months, months upon months of just tearing down old structures; of flitting from group to group before ultimately losing my temper and forcing them all to work together because like Hermione said, I’m not a damn owl. I had made some shabby looking shelters for the people of Lake- Town, considering that their town was burned to a crisp and were effectively homeless, who were trying to survive in the ruins of Dale and the good will of a Dwarf and Elf King. They weren’t pretty to look at but my shelters kept out the cold winds out and a roof over their heads. It was a temporary solution until the demolition and the rebuilding finished. It took every skill I had to dodge the grateful people of Lake-Town.

I swear, when I see Gandalf I’m going to drop kick him. That damn wizard sure likes to stir the fucking pot, but when it’s time to clean up he’s nowhere to be found.

Luckily Bard, all solemn and stern, had managed to wring out a promise of aid from both Kings. Being a smuggler and a haggler had come in handy at that particular meeting, not to mention from what I heard a heavy serving of guilt, had Bard coming out with more than he had gone in with. Bard had managed to wrangle out the services of the dwarves from the Iron Hills to come and rebuild Dale. Dwarven masonry was, I’m told, _the best in the world even if the pretty little tree huggers thought otherwise._ I had just nodded along with the dwarf that was directing me around to set up new foundations for Dale. In exchange for that, Bard had promised to set up a trading post for Erebor. Bard would handle the startup, having a good relationship with merchants since the fall of the dwarven kingdom. He knew the caravan schedules, and would introduce the traders and merchants to Glóin so that the dwarves could set up their own deals for goods. From the Elves, Bard managed to get a trade set up for elvish wine, elvish made luxuries and a small tax for being the transport of goods between Mirkwood and Erebor. Not bad for a middle-aged fish smuggler with a tendency to brood with the best of them.

I had wondered why Bard wanted to be all up in their business and the man had told me point blank that Dale had to be essential, the lynchpin, to their survival. That way Dale will never again be left to death and ruin.

Sometimes that fish smuggler surprised the hell out of me for being so clever.

Bard was appointed the King of Dale, much to the surprise of no one but him. Dude took down a dragon and haggled out deals with two kings, the fuck did he think was gonna happen? That the people of Lake-Town, Mirkwood and Erebor were just going to let some no name idiot be King? Please, not even the Master, after he was found near hypothermic on the shores, was stupid enough to think he was going to be top dog again. From what I heard, Balin pinching my side as I tried to trip Bard on his way to his coronation, Bard’s was a noble if not royal blood line and that in the end blood won out. So with a pinched face and an expression of gloom in his eyes Bard was named King of Dale, _and returned honor to his family_ , this was whispered to me by Dwalin who had nearly broken Bard’s back with a friendly slap. A simple, by Bard’s adamant request, crown was placed on his head by a flawless looking Thranduil, and a magnificent sword gifted to him by a weak and pale looking Thorin before he was whisked away back to his healing chambers. If anyone thought that the crown would change Bard than they were in for a huge surprise. Bard put everyone to work, rolling up his rough spun tunics to his elbows to help.

His children were put to work also, Bain helping the dwarves by taking care of minimal tasks like getting water or firewood. Sigrid and Tilda were busy sewing clothes, blankets, creating pillows and other necessities for when the city was rebuilt so that no one would go without luxuries. I had tried to help, but after bending needle after needle Sigrid had banished me from the sewing house and sent me to the kitchens. Hilda, _the woman responsible for riling up the womenfolk and leading the charge against the orcs in Dale with a pitchfork_ or so Bain says, had taken one look at me and put me in charge of lifting up the heavy large pots onto the flames. After whining about the strain on my back Hilda had told me to _quit your whining girl and lift with your legs_. She had seen me punch out a troll therefore she had no sympathy for me or my back, and that if I wanted to eat I needed to put my back into it. I remember being stunned into speechlessness but I did in fact put my back into it with no whining, after Hilda handed me a huge bowl of beef stew as reward.

Time moseyed on and before we knew it Dale was rebuilt. No more could you find any crumbled pillars, or scattered bones, or blood tainted stones. The dwarves had outdone themselves, and to thank them for their efforts Bard had loosened his iron grip on the wine and beer that he had been guarding over for almost two years. The party was epic. Mirkwood brought food, Erebor brought the music and Dale light up the city with its newly made fire pits built into the walls. The Dwarves and Elves were acting all stiff and stayed far away from each other, but as the wine and beer started flowing race didn’t register unless it was a drinking challenge. Thranduil had put in an appearance, long blond tresses gleaming with the firelight, and danced with both Sigrid and Tilda. Sigrid blushed for two hours straight, looking like she had died and gone to heaven as Thranduil gracefully twirled her about and kissed her hand, while Tilda being shorter than the Elf had jumped up and wrapped her legs about the Elven Kings stomach and smashed their cheeks together demanding to slow dance. Sigrid had sputtered out apologies while Bard looked between laughing at and scolding his youngest child. Thranduil had only quirked his lips before wrapping his arms around her securely and started to sway with the girl. It was just about the cutest thing I had ever seen. Thranduil looked amazing, with his pale skin and his diamonds and silk robes, and I spotted a couple of women gripping their skirts looking thirsty as hell. Shit, I didn’t blame them seeing how I was appreciating the view myself. After the dance Tilda had turned to Thranduil and kissed him right on his pale pouty lips and before giving him an audacious grin that had Bard choking on his drink. Thranduil looked like he had been smacked by a fish as Bard lifted Tilda out of his arms and started scolding the giggling pre-teen. Turned out that Thranduil would have to be on his toes around her since after that first party, it soon became a tradition to hold the Feast of Triumph every year, because Tilda only grew bolder with age. She had managed to lay one on Thranduil so much that a betting pool had started up to see if this year she would be successful or not. I managed to win three years in a row before Dori caught me helping Tilda corner the hunted looking Elven King.

Bain, after the rebuilding had finished, had nagged his way into the training program that I had helped create with Bard and Rungrim, a Dwarven veteran who had decided to live in Dale instead of the Lonely Mountain. Too many bad memories, Rungrim had muttered as he looked to the mountain. Knowing what was to come I knew that Dale had to have soldiers. Rungrim was only too happy to yell at Men all the live long day, sharing his wealth of combat knowledge in exchange for a nice house and a servant to help him. The servant, a young girl built like an ox, lived in the house and shared her meals with him. It was sort of like a live in aide. Rungrim was four feet and half of Dwarven pride with unruly grey hair and walked with ease with his cane. His right leg was amputated below the knee. Gretchen, the servant, was strong enough to help him when he couldn’t manage with his cane and made sure to keep the house warm to help with his aching joints. Rungrim taught almost three generations of Dale warriors, walked Gretchen down the aisle at her marriage since her parents died on the day of the Burning of Esgaroth, given his surname to her three children after her husband passed from a fever, and set up good marriages for them. When the old dwarf finally passed at the ripe old age of two hundred and fifty-five, the whole army that Rungrim had helped mold attended his funeral. Gretchen passed a month later and Bain had her buried with all the honors of a solider since she trained with them when she was young. Bain, under the old Dwarf’s tutelage became a fierce a warrior, becoming the first Captain of the Guard for Dale. He married a nice girl, and had four children; three boys and one girl. He raised his children the same way his father had raised him, humble and with a loving hand.

Sigrid, keeping her simple wardrobe but now better fabrics, became the Ambassador for Dale. Being the eldest and pseudo mother to Tilda and Bain had trained her to deal with bullshit. She could stare down a dwarf, elf or man and have them agreeing to her terms before they knew what hit them. Bard, needless to say, was over the moon and had Sigrid with him whenever someone came to Dale to conduct business or politics. Bard wasn’t too fond of dealing with people, reminiscing about the good old days when all he had to worry about was how to sneak in barrels of fish to town without paying the heavy tax. Sigrid had married a soldier, and had only three children, naming one of them in honor of the Crown Prince that saved her and her siblings years ago.. The second he stepped foot into the city when told of Sigrid’s water breaking, Fíli’s loud proclamations of his namesakes birth and no doubt epic destiny had everyone rolling their eyes. I had contained myself until he was crossing the center of the city before tripping him, but that didn’t stop the idiot. The fact that young little Fíli was born with golden hair, blue eyes and smiling had Bard sighing with dour acceptance as Fíli had practically cackled as he held the baby in his arms. Sigrid had smiled and patted her husband’s hand, assuring him that Fíli would let him see their son on special occasions. Jon, who was lying next to his exhausted wife with a cold cloth on his forehead after he had taken a swan dive right into my arms when she had first started pushing, had taken one look at both Fíli’s and mumbled that the Crown Prince had be prepared in taking care of the baby. This of course had given an ego boost to Fíli, making him nearly impossible to deal with whenever he went to Dale to visit his namesake.

Tilda, when she wasn’t giving Bard grey hairs and sneaking up on Thranduil when he came for the Feast of Triumph, grew up to take the handle of Treasurer at the young age of eighteen. I had been surprised to see the firecracker teen holed up with Glóin when he came once a month to Dale to square finances. She had taken one look at his abacus and how he haggled with merchants that would have even Hilda speechless and decided that Glóin was her new best friend. Glóin had resisted the very idea of having the young girl anywhere near his accounting book, _especially a young lass that had kissed an elf has she no shame_ , but Tilda was practically stuck to his hip as he did business. The only reason he didn’t kick her out was because Bard was King, and also Tilda was very fast. She wore him down though, constantly prattling on and on about how she wanted an abacus also, and how Glóin was amazing keeping track of the budgets. When the redhead finally caved Tilda hadn’t made a ruckus like everyone thought she would. She had grinned and did a curtsey, thanking Glóin for his mentorship. Bard had complained the whole day while he helped me create a garden in my backyard about why she couldn’t act like a civilized young lady all the time. Tilda, much to Glóin’s surprise, had a way with numbers and growing up the way she had had no issues stripping someone down when they tried to cheat the city of money. Glóin had given her a gold inlaid abacus with precious stones when she had managed to build up Dale’s coffers one year; she had convinced Sigrid and Bard to create a business that merged all the stables into one giant Middle-Earth style parking lot and transformed it into a grooming and overnight parking establishment. You brought a horse in and for a price you could get your horse groomed, its shoes taken a look at, fed and watered, and stored in a nice clean pen for however long you needed. Later on Tilda had added stylized plaits with ribbons to her menu. Tilda was more than qualified in dealing with Glóin whenever the city made deals with Erebor. Their shouting matches were legendary and when they finally settled on a deal would go to a pub and drink. Bard needless to say had just taken one look at his rambunctious daughter and just accepted the fact that Tilda was a force of nature that couldn’t be tamed. I didn’t have the heart to tell him about the betting pool when he had mumbled that at least she wasn’t chasing after Thranduil anymore. The day she started courting a man named Hakon, Thranduil and Bard both breathed a little easier when the dancing started at the Feast of Triumph. The betting pool disbanded with heavy hearts, and I watched as Tilda gave the tall blond man a rare shy grin as he bowed to her. That the man shared some similarities to a certain Elven King had me elbowing said Elven King as I wiggled my eyebrows at him. Thranduil had retaliated by smiling at me and practically dragging me onto the dance floor, breaking my almost ten year streak of avoiding dancing. The day Tilda married saw the city of Dale bursting near seams with merchants from all over Middle-Earth to attend. Hakon was a fisherman, owning several boats and prime fishing routes, and together they had six children. Bard had looked like I had spit in his soup when every time Tilda announced that she was pregnant I gave her a high five and congratulated her for having such fertile loins.  

Thorin made a speedy recovery, and that was only because Balin had given me _the look_ as I laid out in my back yard catching some much needed **peace-filled** sun rays and told me that I needed to calm Thorin down. I had, naturally, complained that I wasn’t Thorin’s goddamn keeper anymore to which Balin had snorted before telling me that if I didn’t get up, _and put some clothes on lass for Mahal’s sake anyone can see you!_ , he would narc on me to Dwalin about my late night visits. After sputtering in shock about the fact that Balin had enlisted Nori’s help in collecting gossip on me, I had put on clothes and followed after Balin and his perfectly maintained white beard. So in between rebuilding, helping out in the kitchens and making my own home, I had become Thorin’s nurse. Soon enough, really I love the dwarf but momma needs some _alone_ time a.s.a.p. if you _know_ what I _mean_ , Thorin was able to walk without throwing up and faintly. Months of physical therapy, in which Thorin nearly incited a mutiny against him for being a little shit that wanted to disregard the healers meaning of taking it slow, had him slowly relearning how to use the muscles that Azog had torn. Thorin was able to lift his sword, Orcrist, with no pain but found he didn’t have to worry fighting much since the mountain was won. When he was given the all clear from the stressed healers, and I was given the green light to go home and handle business by a smirking Balin, Thorin had walked through Erebor. He saw how much of the city was rebuilt while he was laid up and had ordered that the Hall of Kings to be gated off; needing the reminder of just how far he had gone off in madness to stay sane. Thorin then had the workers seal the corridor that held the dead, leaving it as a tomb from the attack of the dragon. The furnaces were relit and work resumed when masses of Dwarves left the Blue Mountains to settle in Erebor. Thorin honored his bargain with Bard, giving the race of Men their share of the treasure. With that he had finally lost some of his pinched look, saying that slowly his _moment of shame was being washed away by giving Thranduil and Bard what they were due_. I thought he was laying it a bit thick in the melodrama and had nearly been cut by the death glare Thorin threw at me.

After Kíli had started his own physical therapy, this time I had called Balin’s bluff because there was no way I was going to be Kíli’s nurse after Thorin, the archer had bluntly told Thorin about his plan to marry Tauriel whether he liked it or not. Thorin had nearly had a seizure he was so angry and the only reason he didn’t fight Kíli was because a wall of healers formed between him and his nephew. One healer, a tough looking female Dwarf named Már, had stepped up to Thorin and as fast as lightning poked Thorin in his shoulder. Thorin crumbled like a house of cards, panting as a wave of pain hit him. I had stared at the steel haired bearded female as she calmly told her King that when he wasn’t as weak as kitten he wasn’t to go around trying to fight anyone, especially her patient. Thorin relented, because come on who wouldn’t in the face of Már taking none of your shit of the Iron Hills clan, and had tried to convince Kíli that he was better off with a dwarf instead of an elf. Kíli had said nothing, not one word in the weeks that followed until one day he looked at Thorin and told him, _if you cannot accept the fact that my heart belongs to Tauriel and hers belongs to me, that I would never leave her side not for you or Mahal himself, then this is the last time that we shall ever see one another Thorin._ Thorin had stared at him, asked him a question in Khuzdul to which Kíli answered back just as gravely.

After that Thorin no longer said one word about Kíli’s choice in spouse, instead, as much as he disliked it, he had set out to repair the relationship between the Elves of Mirkwood and the Dwarves of Erebor. It was either that or lose his nephew. It was that thought that gave Thorin strength as he wrote to his sister Dís about her foolhardy son’s upcoming nuptials to an elf. At least, Thorin consoled himself as I watched him stare down at letter with a look of a man readying for battle, the she-elf knew her way around a blade and held no qualms in giving her life for Kíli’s safety. He wrote to Dís, I had managed to snatch the letter from him and read it since he wrote it in Westron because Thorin was too lazily to write in Khuzdul, of how the she-elf had defied orders from her King and Prince in order to save Kíli. That the she-elf had a full thick head of hair the color of fire and proceeded to lay it on thick of the virtues of Tauriel. The answering letter was enough to have Thorin to rally Dwalin and Balin’s help for the arrival of Dís to Erebor. Dealings with King Thranduil, after the return of the infamous heirloom, went easier than anyone would have imagined. The two Kings were able to find a middle ground, both tired of conflict. Trade reopened between the two Kingdoms, with Bard greasing the wheels to move the goods, and Thorin grudgingly decided that the Elven King wasn’t _that_ horrible.  Thorin’s sister, when she came and practically kidnapped Tauriel, had taken the reins in organizing the wedding.  

Dis when I first saw her, could have been Thorin’s twin. Dark curled hair streaked with faint silver strands, a clean trimmed beard inlaid with thin strands of gold and intense blue eyes; the only difference was she smiled more than Thorin. It was a good thing that the archer spent nearly a year recuperating his strength because he didn’t stand a chance in separating his mother and his fiancé when they argued. Dís and Tauriel would almost come to blows when it came to deciding what to serve the guests, who were to be the guests, what music was going to be playing and even down to what flowers were going to decorate the Great Hall. When Dís wasn’t looking over the compromised food menu, she was teaching Tauriel everything there was to know about being a wife to a dwarf. When Kíli was strong enough to stand Thorin had decided that the wedding was going to happen, already fed up with his sister and her wedding committee, even if he had to carry Kíli to the altar. The wedding was beautiful, and I felt like a princess in my custom made gown that Dís had said was mandatory if I wanted to even get through the gate; after coming to in my armor to almost every committee meeting Dís had put her foot down and strong armed Dwalin in making sure that every inch of the mountain was covered with guards to stop me from entering. I didn’t want to rain on her parade by saying that if I wanted in the mountain, nothing as gonna stop me.

 As I stood next to Thorin, being part of the Royal Guard and all had its perks, I saw how breathtaking Tauriel looked. She wore a beautiful gown made of the whitest of silks, made entirely by hand by Dís, and a simple silver circlet that had been her mothers. Kíli was already crying like a baby as he watched her walk towards him, and Thorin for all that he was a Negative Nancy about it looked proud at the couple. Dís and Fíli were both crying as Kíli held his hand out to Tauriel, both thanking Mahal for the archer’s happiness. At Bard’s insistence, Tauriel was walked down the aisle by the Elven King and ‘given’ away to the Dwarven Prince. She had said her vows in her native tongue before saying them in the common tongue for all those assembled before gracefully kneeling before a punch drunk looking Kíli so that he could braid her hair and attach his handmade hair clasps with his symbol. After a scandalous kiss that had Fíli and me whooping and giving loud cat calls, the married couple led the first dance and started the party that would be remembered for years. Dís had stayed for another month before telling Thorin that she was going back to the Blue Mountains, half of their people going as well after deciding that Erebor wasn’t home to them anymore. Thorin of course didn’t want her to go, but Dís had hugged him and said that she couldn’t abandon the home that he had worked so hard to build for her. Thorin nodded sharply and watched his sister’s caravan disappear into the now safe Mirkwood route; and if there were tears running down his cheek I wasn’t going to tell anyone.

Thorin had then appointed Kíli as the Ambassador of Erebor and helped build his nephew a home just outside the mountain and edging the trees as a symbol of acceptance to his nephew’s wife. The two were beyond happy, and hadn’t had children but then again no one really knew if they could even conceive. Thorin had then concentrated on training Fíli, having decided that he would only rule for a short term, into becoming a King. Thorin had told Balin and me one calm night when nothing had to be taken care of that he was tired of being the King. He had led his people safely to the Blue Mountains and had taken back Erebor. Relations with Dale and Mirkwood were blossoming and Thorin didn’t know how long he could keep the mantle up before burning out. He was paranoid of the gold sickness taking him again; even though he could feel his mind and soul free, the shadow of it haunted his dreams. He had told us, as he stared in the fire roaring in his fireplace, that he just wanted a quiet life now. That as soon as he felt Fíli was ready he was going to step down. Balin had tried to argue but I elbowed him and told Thorin that whenever he was ready I’d be there to help him. Seeing the genuine smile, an actual happy smile, from Thorin was worth all that crazy shit that he had put me through since that day in the Trollshaws.

Dwalin became Captain of the Guard, to no one’s surprise. What did surprise everyone was that he had taken up with a human woman of Dale, Hilda in fact. Once Dwalin had been told the story he had gone to check her out, _I only want to know if the tale is true Constance, considering that Men usually run away when the fight comes to them_. Dwalin had eyed Hilda up and down before Hilda noticed him outside her shop and had yelled at him that if he wasn’t buying then to fuck-off. The rest, as they say, is history. Hilda was tough, very no nonsense with a sharp tongue. Dwalin had to fight tooth and nail for Hilda to even concede to go for a drink. It wasn’t until Dwalin had showcased his affinity with cleaning up the dishes and impressive skills with a lute, did Hilda climb Dwalin like a tree. Hilda had somehow convinced Dwalin that if he wanted to be with her than he was going to have to build her house outside of the mountain. She had lived on a lake; she wasn’t going to go live in a mountain. Dwalin had managed to convince her to at least have the house made closer to Erebor then to Dale.  The had a very quiet wedding, and a year later Hilda gave birth to a pair of twins that grew just a couple of inches taller than me. Thorin had thumped Dwalin on the back every five seconds, and I had cried like a baby as Dwalin asked me to bless them. Hilda had started crying that they were perfect, both being born with a head full of black soft hair and cream colored skin. That set Dwalin off, which had me crying again and had Thorin pushing back tears as he gruffly maintained his tough persona as he congratulated Hilda. You would think that I hadn’t had a house of my own, considering I had camped out in their living room for months. It wasn’t until Hilda had told me to take the twins for a sleepover at my house so that she could have some _alone_ time with Dwalin that had me living in my own house again. Dwalin taught his children everything he knew, patiently correcting their stances, making them their weapons himself, and sparring with them with such a look of pride that he would always end up emotionally retelling how his boys successfully blocked a punch to Thorin and me when we went drinking. Hilda taught them how to spot a deal from a mile away and haggle with the best of them, as well as instilling them with the fear of God himself if they didn’t tidy up after themselves when they grew out of childhood. When Dwalin had given them his stamp of approval, the twins had followed me around everywhere asking me to train them. I swear every time I turned around I saw them and their puppy eye expressions. I was able to fend them off for three years until Hilda and Dwalin had both cornered me and told me to take them off their hands already.

Nori was appointed Erebor’s spy, a decision that had Balin and me sighing at Thorin’s ongoing paranoia towards everyone and Dwalin cursing at the thief. Nori had taken great pleasure in rubbing his title in the Captain’s face and had finally repaired the strained relationship with his brothers. He never married or had children.

Dori had taken up it upon himself in taking charge of the kingdoms inventory. He had corralled anyone who had crossed his path and led an intensive clean-up that lasted two years. In the end Dori had such a detailed list of what the dwarven city had and didn’t that Glóin was able to order supplies cost effectively. Dori, with the influx of new citizens coming in, had married a brunette dwarf with soft sideburns and a curly beard and amazing green eyes. Kona was a quiet little thing that whenever I visited them Dori always gave me the stank eye and whispered to me to behave myself. They had only one child, a little girl with his silver hair and her mother’s startlingly green eyes. Kori was so little and so pretty that I somehow managed to keep my potty mouth shut around her.

Bombur was appointed the city’s head cook and worked closely with Dori and Glóin to make sure that his stores were always kept stocked. He didn’t marry, instead he had managed to get some land outside the mountain where he kept a small farm and cared for the animals. Bofur likewise didn’t remarry, after the death of his wife long ago back in the Blue Mountains. The toy maker instead joined his brother in bachelorhood. He opened a post and created toys for children of all races. Bifur joined them in their unmarried status and lent his services to the guard, becoming Dwalin’s Lieutenant.

Glóin became the Treasurer for Erebor, his trusty abacus in hand and even on his person. He kept the coffers in check and had made sure that all of Tilda’s children learned their numbers from him. His wife and son traveled from the Blue Mountains and settled within Erebor.

Fíli took to being an actual Crown Prince like a duck took to water. He knew of his uncles intentions of handing off the crown earlier than expected and at first fought him on it. It had taken me baiting him with taunts of being scared, and making chicken noises, that had him loudly proclaimed that he was ready whenever his uncle was. Later, much later, Fíli would curse me out for tricking into accepting so easily.

Balin after thirty years spent establishing Erebor’s illustrious reputation once more, led a small group to reclaim Khazad-dûm, Óin and Ori went with him. After two years of silence a caravan came carrying a letter that told us that they had managed to settle a small colony within the mountain. Thorin and Dwalin had both snorted and said that they never doubted Balin’s ability to take back the Misty Mountains. Ori and Balin kept up the steady correspondence, timing it with the caravans that travelled to Erebor, but lately there hasn’t been any news from Khazad-dûm.

Legolas did leave, fucker didn’t even stay to help with clean-up or rebuilding; managing to sneak off when Gandalf did. He didn’t attend Tauriel’s wedding, I had figured but the hurt look that Tauriel sported when she realized it had my knuckles itching to punch her. Only a blind person could miss the besotted look on Legolas face whenever they were together. Why would Legolas want to watch his unrequited love get married to a Dwarf? When he finally did show up, after five years off in the wild with the Rangers, to visit his father I told him all about what happened in his absence. Like clock-work Legolas would come to visit every five years, stubborn like a pack mule about not wanting to step out of the forest but that didn’t stop me from entering it. The pointy eared bastard had me tracking him down every time he came home just to say hello and give him said five years’ worth of gossip. Which I know he was interested in no matter how many times he stuck up his nose at me and sneered. That said Legolas would spend a month in the Woodland Realm each time he came to visit, not going out to seek out Tauriel or anyone outside the borders like an over dramatic twelve year old trying to prove that he was above everything. I swear I must have kicked his ass every time he said that he didn’t want to see anyone from _that_ family. With the years passing us immortals by, we ended forming a friendship that was more insults and baiting. Legolas was one of the saltiest people that I had ever known, and that’s taking Thorin in consideration. Every time Legolas came to visit he was less angry, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t clap back with extreme prejudice, and mellowed out for the most part. He still held distaste for dwarves, still didn’t even want to see or talk to Tauriel, and still tended to punch than talk to me. Luckily for me, and unlucky for him, I punched back twice as hard.

The biggest change that the Elven King did was order his soldiers to hunt down every spider in the woods, taking back acres of land. It had taken time, and with Gandalf gallivanting throughout Middle-Earth without a care in the fucking world, but I managed to convince him to bulk up his army and prepare for the war. Thranduil appointed Cúnor and Tauriel Ambassadors of the Woodland Realm, needing an excuse to send the red-head out of his borders, and away from his heartbroken son, so that she could live with Kíli and have one of his most trusted soldiers with the Maia. Not that I minded, Cúnor was cool in my books.

After the dust settled, five years spent helping rebuild, helping Thorin, the weddings and just craziness I spent the next five years doing nothing related to fighting. My house, which I had made sure was a blend of dwarven and elven masonry because while I love the sturdiness of dwarven construction those elves sure knew how to carve stone, was built near the three Kingdoms. After the urgency of rebuilding cooled off, I noticed that Bard kept giving me looks on the sly. After about a week of him getting me hot under the collar, I’m not a saint and at the age of thirty-three my V-card was waaaay overdue in being cashed in, I decided to make good on what I had told Dwalin.

By the way, Bard does in fact look fucking amazing under all that clothing.

Of course, when Bard had pulled out and noticed the blood he kind of freaked out. I didn’t know if I was offended or embarrassed when he looked at my blood smeared thighs, and mumbled that just _how_ was I a virgin all this time. I had seriously wavered between kicking him right in the nuts and covering myself. Just because I kick major ass and could probably break his hip didn’t mean that I was all that confident in my sexual prowess; especially since it was my first time and my best friend was a tattooed dwarf who had stuttered his way into telling me about the dangers of having unprotected sex with the man between my thighs on said man’s boat. Bard, naked and sweating from laying down the pipe, had asked me marry him so that my honor wouldn’t be sullied. I really did kick him then, but to his gut instead of the family jewels because I’m nice like that.

I didn’t want to marry him, especially not to satisfy some primeval honor that wasn’t instilled in me. I liked him well enough, Bard’s biceps were a revelation and his thighs were a gift from God, but I didn’t _love_ him. Bard of course had resisted the idea of being together without tying the knot for months, but finally caved since he didn’t want to remarry. The years that followed was filled with so much hot sex. Bard, for being celibate for so many years, had me stupid with how good it was. Of course it didn’t start out that way; for one that first time hurt like a mother fucker. Then there was the whole find my clit incident, and the why going down on me is a very good thing I promise incident, and let’s not forget the why going down on him is a very good thing I promise incident. Although Bard jumped on the going down on him train real quick.

Bard, being paranoid and kinda a perv since the _shame_ of having sex out of wedlock with me got his motor running in five seconds flat, had made me promise to keep our intimate relationship on the down low. Like really down low, like I couldn’t even tell me shadow down low. That was why I hadn’t told Dwalin about me and Bard being a thing; which was why Dwalin walking in on us fucking on my kitchen table was both a good thing and a bad thing. It was a bad thing because I really didn’t need Dwalin’s shocked face in my line of sight while being buck naked on my kitchen table. In my defense I hadn’t even noticed him coming to visit, considering I was busy getting my mind melted from Bard’s hard steady thrusts. It had taken fast talking and stone walls to separate the wrathful dwarf from cutting a naked mortified Bard, but the dwarf swore to take the secret to his grave. Of course every time after that Dwalin had taken to staring the King of Dale down whenever they crossed paths and nagging me about the dangers of being a consort; I had the presence of mind to let the dwarf know that the dragon slayer had taken care to giving me some weird bitter tea to prevent pregnancy. I also had the common sense to not tell Dwalin about the dragon slayer also slaying me virginity. The good thing about Dwalin finding out about us the way he did was that after that, all I had to do was whisper in Bard’s ear about how unapologetic he still was about not only taking my virginity, but also not marrying me, and Bard turned into a fiend.

Eventually the fog of lust faded and we both decided to just stick to friends. Life was cruel in a way, while Bard grew old and grey I stayed the same as when he first met me. I would have stuck with him longer, because even though I didn’t love _love_ him, Bard was my first and had crawled his way into my chest cavity and staked a place in my heart. But Bard, I think, didn’t want to burden me when he inevitably got older and older. So I didn’t fight him on that, even though it felt like someone had grabbed my lungs and _squeezed_. I’m not gonna lie and say that I wasn’t angry, because I was, but after crying and wishing I had my iPod and beer to lose myself in misery I realized that Bard was right. Breaking up was ultimately the right thing to do.

The day Bard passed, forty years after the Battle of the Five Armies, was the beginning of an end of an era. His funeral was attended by nearly all of Mirkwood, Erebor, and even Daín had come from the Iron Hills. It was sad, the fuck I’m saying it was the hardest day in my life and I’m including the day _I_ died. The whole thing was bittersweet. I got to spend forty years with him, I fought with him, I made love with him, I saw the rebirth of Dale with him; I saw how wonderful his children grew to be and saw the birth of his grandchildren. He didn’t die bloody. His life wasn’t abruptly stopped in violence. Bard died in his sleep, peaceful and with the knowledge that his children were happy and safe; with the knowledge that he had lived a full life and really how many people I know can say that?

Bain succeeded him on the throne. Bain, the gangly teenager that I had met almost a lifetime ago, who was now a man through and through and had accepted the humble crown of his father was untold grace.

The years passed in peace and here I am looking out my window and smelling the roses as the birds sing in the background. I reach out and caress the roses that Bard had planted so long ago, _don’t drown them in water Constance, a little goes a long way with this lot_.  All I needed was a hot cup of coffee and I swear I’d feel as if I were back on Earth. Being here for fifty years I had finally made peace with everything that had happened back on my world. A lifetime can heal even the most hurtful of wounds. I clasp my hands and lean against the wall when I feel an unforgettable wormy feeling in my mind. I scowl and start cursing at the fucking audacity of Galadriel. Did she really think that I wouldn’t notice that she was doing her freaky telepathy trick? After all this time did she think that I would forget the feeling? Pooling my concentration so that I can knock her skinny ass out of my mind, the Lady of Lothlórien pushes with all her strength and crashed into my mind. I slump against the wall, breath catching at the sharp spike to my brain, and flinch in pain as her voice echoes in my mind ominously.

_The Ring of Power has been found._

**_…Okay…no kicking you out right now._ **

_There is no time to waste Constance Williamson, Gandalf was imprisoned and has escaped from Saruman’s clutches._

**_Wait, what! I fucking knew it! I fucking called it back in Rivendell, but did anyone listen to me? No they did not. Is Gandalf okay?_ **

_You are not surprised about the One Ring._

**_…Need to know Galadriel. Now you said that there wasn’t any time to waste. What else you got for me?_ **

_There is to be a secret council in Rivendell, to decide the fate of the One Ring. I ask you to go, Mithrandir will need you there. The time for the fate of Middle Earth has come._

**_I’ll be there…are you going?_ **

_If I were to go the council will be discovered, Saruman is surely keeping an eye on my whereabouts. I cannot go. May the Valar bless your journey; we are all going to need it for the darkness that is to come._

The intrusive feeling faded, leaving me staring at my living room wall blankly with the bomb that Galadriel dropped on me. I know that the Ring was going to be an issue, it was being hidden by a hobbit for fucksake, but I wish that I had a little bit more time enjoying the peace. I feel hollow, my brain not really processing what the reality is until I turn to look at the Lonely Mountain. I see the mountain, catch a glimpse of Dale and see the trees of Mirkwood from the corner of my see. Then all at once it hits me and really there’s only one thing to say that sums it all up, I close my eyes and say quite lightly, “Fuck.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Constance's adventure in The Lord of the Rings. I just can't that foul mouth mutant out of my mind. Thank you everyone who gave this story, the OC and me a chance. 
> 
> Peace!


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